The Apache Appraisal

I wish I could have met the Car Man who coined the phrase, “Apache appraisal”, but that was long before my time. The saying brings a stirring image to your mind: a handsome Indian brave standing high atop a hill, one hand held stoutly over his brow to shield his steely eyes from the glaring morning sun as he searches for distant buffalo. But in the world of a Car Man it is used to describe a manager who is too lazy to get off his ass. Instead, he raises a hand to shield his bloodshot eyes from the sun glaring through his office window to put a number on your distant trade-in. This is the Apache appraisal.

All Car Men have experienced the anxiety of having a manager appraise his precious trade-in without even going out to look at it. If the car is a piece of crap, this can work to your advantage, but more often than not, an Apache appraisal does nothing but cost you money. Your manager might be stupid, but he is not a moron (at least not normally), so the number he comes up with is usually lower than the sled is actually be worth.

True, an Apache appraisal on an old car leaning to one side might not be too bad a thing, but what if it is a three-year-old car? Who in their right mind would assign a value to a trade-in when he has neither given it a good look nor driven it around the block to see if all the gears work? The answer, unfortunately, is a lot of managers. Over the years, the Apache appraisal has cost me money, but let me tell you a little story about how I once got my revenge...

Al Gracier wore many different hats at Elmhurst Ford. You might remember Al as the manager who busted me for being the early worm that caught the worm. One hat he wore was that of used car manager. All and all Al was a great Car Man, but sometimes he suffered from the same glue-on-the-butt syndrome that many managers are prone to contract once they get used to the idea that they do not have to hustle for customers on the lot anymore.

At Elmhurst Ford, the used car lot was across a side street from the dealership. There was only one way in, so if you pulled a car over to Al’s office for an appraisal the driver’s side faced his window. Al was not dumb enough to do an Apache on a late model trade, but if it were an older car he would rarely go out and look at it closely. Not only that, he would not even let you tell him anything about the vehicle’s merits. He was not interested in your opinions or sales pitch. He would glance at the car and quickly write down a number, a total investment of about sixty seconds of his time.

One day I was working a particularly difficult deal. Getting the maximum dollar amount out of the old trade-in was critical for me to have enough down payment money for a roll. Unfortunately, the trade had a big bang on the driver’s side front door, and I knew that if I drove it straight over to Al’s office with the damage in plain sight, it would cost me dearly. So, I very carefully backed the car onto the lot so that the passenger’s side of the car, the TV side as we call it, faced his office.

I walked into the office. Al was busy at his desk. He had not noticed my parking maneuver. To cover my ass I said, “Al, I’ve got to tell you something about this car.”

All looked up and glared at me. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said. He looked out at the trade-in, wrote $500 on the appraisal form, and sent me on my way.

I was one happy son-of-a-bitch.

I backed the trade off the lot and parked it so he would not see it again until after I made my deal. Even after I rolled the new car, I waited until Al went to lunch. When I was sure he was gone, I backed the trade into a slot on the side of his office and put the keys on his desk. Mission accomplished.

A half-hour later, Al was back. I kept an eye on him from the showroom across the street. Eventually he emerged from of his office to examine the trade. When he reached the damaged door I saw him shake his head in disgust. At this point I started to panic. Hell, covered ass or not, I might be in serious trouble!

Al started across the street. I stood protectively on the other side of a Ford LTD sitting on the showroom floor just in case things got violent. He walked in, but instead of lunging at me, he continued toward the sales office. As he walked passed, he glanced over and said, “You got me!”

Sometimes life can be good.


Talk to you later,

David