Back in the day, many Car Men referred to the car business as selling iron. I’m not sure if this term has survived the years, especially since there is so little iron in modern cars, but you get the picture. Selling iron has a ring to it; kind of like aluminum siding guys say they their selling tin.
By the way the best movie I ever saw about Car Men was not about the auto business at all. The movie “Tin Men”, with their dynamic closers and the shenanigans they would get themselves into reminded me a lot of the high-flying closers of old. If you’ve never seen it, it’s worth checking out for the suits these guys wear alone!
Back to the point. I’ve always said that cars are nothing but iron with paint on it. The point being that no matter what the make of car or where it is built it is all essentially the same thing. You are selling iron and paint. The secret to success is being able to determine which iron to sell depending on fads and the economy. Ford Expedition iron, bad. Toyota Prius iron, good—though you have to put up with the extreme stuck-up assholes that buy them.
When I was a kid, there was a breed of car man that had dual careers. They sold iron; they sold dirt. Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s when the big thing was getting back to nature, large companies such as Boise Cascade bought up large tracks of land in the Sierras. The land was divided up into lots for vacation homes and such, but these companies didn’t sell cabins. They only sold the dirt.
There was a fairly large contingent of salesman that held both car sales and real estate licenses. In the spring and summer when the weather was agreeable they sold dirt. In the fall and winter (or when real estate sales were down) they sold Fords. I worked with several guys that did this, and what a crazy bunch they were!
I’ve mentioned before that all good car men were a little nuts, or extremely nuts in some instances. The type of guy who can easily move back in forth between two very different industries had to have a large amount of testicular fortitude. A drinking problem helped a little too. Correct timing was an essence, because if you didn’t time the market correctly it could cost you a lot.
What happened to the dirt guys? They’re still out there, or course, selling golf course lots at Lake Shastina and other developments. This type of selling is not easy and often requires a very heavy close. They make high-pressure car guys look like rookies.
A lot of car men think that CSI has taken all the fun out of selling cars. You can’t beat people up like you used too even if they deserve it. The high rollers of yore, the legends of our business can no longer operate with a free hand to impress the troops and disgust The Others. Sad, really.
And the refuge of selling dirt is no longer a viable option. That business has gone to crap, along with selling Fords. Car men hiding from a faltering economy have to find something else to do. Like selling annuities—
--and writing blogs.
Talk to you later,
David
In Memory Of Hayward Ford
I was very sad to learn that Hayward Ford has shut down. Built in the early 60’s Hayward Ford one of the iconic car dealerships in the Bay Area. In its time it was the Big Leagues, one time one of the top Ford dealerships in the country. And now it’s gone.
My connection to Hayward Ford goes back over 40 years. My older brother, Danny, went to work there as a salesmen in 1964. By the end of the decade he was the sales manager, and was part owner in the mid-70s. I started working there in 1969 when I was 19. I washed cars, did dealer trades and any other odd job they would throw my way. On October 20, 1970 I started work there as a salesman. I was dumber than dumb, but I managed to sell a car on my first day!
To hundreds of Bay Area car salesmen Hayward Ford was the mother ship. It was the place where many learned their trade. It was home for many pros whose abilities still astonish me to this day. It was a place of good times to be savored for a lifetime. It was also a place of incredible stress and long hours. In other words it was a real big-time place to learn and work.
Many of the stories I have told on this blog occurred at Hayward Ford. In those first heady years of my introduction to the world of a Car Man, everything seemed bigger than life, and for the most part it was. There are many stories I have never written about Hayward Ford. Some of these stories I wouldn’t dare tell you; others I will surely tell in time.
In its lifetime Hayward Ford had many owners, but at its soul were two men: Lionel “Sully” Sullivan and Art Brabant. They were the two men who built the facility and set in place the careers of so many people. I believe that much of what I know about selling cars emanated from Sully who taught my brother, who then taught me.
Random memories: For many years Hayward Ford had a huge tower out front about a hundred feet tall with a revolving Ford emblem at the top. In the early 70’s Ford standardized its signage, so the tower had to come down. There was once a huge fountain in front of place. When a salesman was having a bad spell, my brother would gather all the guys around, take him out to the fountain and splash water on him to change his luck!
The service department was in back of the dealership separated from the parts department by the length of a parking lot. The parts guys used to run parts out to the mechanics on these three wheel electric carts. On Saturday mornings we would go into the shop, take the carts off their chargers and race around the huge T-shaped building. Lots of fun!
Hayward Ford was one of few Shelby/Cobra dealers in the United States. I have memories of a gray 1964 A/C Cobra on the showroom floor. Damn I wish I had that car! As a teen my brother let me drive a ’66 GT 350, the first stick shift I ever drove! If you were a performance car nut, Hayward Ford was like going into a candy shop.
I know I speak for many that Hayward Ford is kind of like an automobile shrine, and it seems almost sacrilegious to see it go. But as George Harrison used to sing, “All things must pass. . .”
So here’s to you Hayward Ford! Thank you for giving me a start in my career. Thanks for making me learn and stressing me out to the max. Working for you was like going to a boot camp, but I will always remember you fondly.
One last memory. Late one evening in December 1970 I remember my brother giving me a “wash out” check for $480. (I had received a $300 draw earlier in the month.) It was the most money I had ever had in my hand at one time. I remember that feeling to this day. Thus is the magic that is the car business. I hope you have a similar memory too!
Talk to you later,
David
My connection to Hayward Ford goes back over 40 years. My older brother, Danny, went to work there as a salesmen in 1964. By the end of the decade he was the sales manager, and was part owner in the mid-70s. I started working there in 1969 when I was 19. I washed cars, did dealer trades and any other odd job they would throw my way. On October 20, 1970 I started work there as a salesman. I was dumber than dumb, but I managed to sell a car on my first day!
To hundreds of Bay Area car salesmen Hayward Ford was the mother ship. It was the place where many learned their trade. It was home for many pros whose abilities still astonish me to this day. It was a place of good times to be savored for a lifetime. It was also a place of incredible stress and long hours. In other words it was a real big-time place to learn and work.
Many of the stories I have told on this blog occurred at Hayward Ford. In those first heady years of my introduction to the world of a Car Man, everything seemed bigger than life, and for the most part it was. There are many stories I have never written about Hayward Ford. Some of these stories I wouldn’t dare tell you; others I will surely tell in time.
In its lifetime Hayward Ford had many owners, but at its soul were two men: Lionel “Sully” Sullivan and Art Brabant. They were the two men who built the facility and set in place the careers of so many people. I believe that much of what I know about selling cars emanated from Sully who taught my brother, who then taught me.
Random memories: For many years Hayward Ford had a huge tower out front about a hundred feet tall with a revolving Ford emblem at the top. In the early 70’s Ford standardized its signage, so the tower had to come down. There was once a huge fountain in front of place. When a salesman was having a bad spell, my brother would gather all the guys around, take him out to the fountain and splash water on him to change his luck!
The service department was in back of the dealership separated from the parts department by the length of a parking lot. The parts guys used to run parts out to the mechanics on these three wheel electric carts. On Saturday mornings we would go into the shop, take the carts off their chargers and race around the huge T-shaped building. Lots of fun!
Hayward Ford was one of few Shelby/Cobra dealers in the United States. I have memories of a gray 1964 A/C Cobra on the showroom floor. Damn I wish I had that car! As a teen my brother let me drive a ’66 GT 350, the first stick shift I ever drove! If you were a performance car nut, Hayward Ford was like going into a candy shop.
I know I speak for many that Hayward Ford is kind of like an automobile shrine, and it seems almost sacrilegious to see it go. But as George Harrison used to sing, “All things must pass. . .”
So here’s to you Hayward Ford! Thank you for giving me a start in my career. Thanks for making me learn and stressing me out to the max. Working for you was like going to a boot camp, but I will always remember you fondly.
One last memory. Late one evening in December 1970 I remember my brother giving me a “wash out” check for $480. (I had received a $300 draw earlier in the month.) It was the most money I had ever had in my hand at one time. I remember that feeling to this day. Thus is the magic that is the car business. I hope you have a similar memory too!
Talk to you later,
David
The Popeye Syndrome
NOTE: IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT THERE IS A MEDICAL CONDITION CALLED POPEYE SYNDROME. THIS BLOG ENTRY IS NOT ABOUT THAT CONDITION! I WISH YOU WELL ON YOUR SEARCH. FEEL FREE TO READ ON IF YOU WISH.
THANKS, DAVID TEVES
I have a list in my wallet with blog ideas that have flashed through my mind over the last few months. When an idea comes to me I’ve got to quickly write it down because at my age ideas don’t hang around too long. Many a brilliant thought has come to me while taking a shower only to disappear by the time I’ve turn off the water reached for a towel.
Most of the time I’m able to write an entry from these ideas, but even though all are given equal time to gestate among the dollar bills and gas receipts in my Lord Buxton, some of them never develop into the five hundred words I need to justify your attention. Here are a few of my problem children.
“The Bee Back Club”. Back in the day Car Men were obsessed with customers who told you they’d be back. If saying this to a salesman had been a capitol offense, thousands would have died. A cleaver printer even offered “bee back” cards. It had a bee flying around it and said, “I promise (write your name in the blank space here) that I will be back. It offered $50 off the purchase if they presented the card. I gave way tons of these cards; no one came back.
“454 With An Attitude”. I thought this was a really clever title, tying in the legendary GM big block displacement with a lousy credit score. The entry would have been about flakes with an attitude. How this tied in with a big block I have no idea. I did end up writing about flakes in another entry but not exclusively about their attitudes, which in many cases is shitty.
“Sales Trainers” I have touched upon these maggots in the past, but not with the vitriol I had planned as a full out assault on their integrity. The basic premise is if these guys are so good at selling cars, they should be selling cars not jacking gullible green peas. You know, just thinking about them pisses me off, so maybe I will write about them in the future.
“The Popeye Syndrome”. This little ditty is an old favorite of mine. It has to do with the Popeye cartoon saying, “I’ve had all I can stands, and I can’t take no more”! Car men experience this state of being all the time especially with sales managers, but I’ve been unable to flesh the thing out. Maybe I’ve had all I can stands.
“Black Girls” I would love to write an entire entry on my experiences selling cars to African-American females, but I fear being branded a racist. All I can say is sometimes the truth hurts, and I’m afraid to say more.
“Dealership Personalities”. This could be an entire entry; I just don’t feel like writing it. It has to do with a dealerships vibe being very close to that of the owners. You fill in the blanks.
“Bore and Stroke”. In the olden days, car brochures were full of technical information: compression ratios, axle ratios, and the bore and stroke of an engine. Not being a mechanic, I was never sure what bore and stroke actually was except for a vague idea that it had something to do with pistons. I have vivid memories of propeller heads with slide rules using this information to come up with some sort of efficiency ratio of the car. Car Men hated these guys because they were extreme mooches.
As a kid I remember an old Car Man explaining bore and stroke. “The bore is $1000 down, and the stroke is $200 per month!” Amen.
Well kids, this concludes my list. I can now throw it away and make room for more stupid thoughts. Hopefully they will come on a timely basis. I enjoy doing this. It keeps me from thinking about the real issues in life.
Talk to you later,
David
THANKS, DAVID TEVES
I have a list in my wallet with blog ideas that have flashed through my mind over the last few months. When an idea comes to me I’ve got to quickly write it down because at my age ideas don’t hang around too long. Many a brilliant thought has come to me while taking a shower only to disappear by the time I’ve turn off the water reached for a towel.
Most of the time I’m able to write an entry from these ideas, but even though all are given equal time to gestate among the dollar bills and gas receipts in my Lord Buxton, some of them never develop into the five hundred words I need to justify your attention. Here are a few of my problem children.
“The Bee Back Club”. Back in the day Car Men were obsessed with customers who told you they’d be back. If saying this to a salesman had been a capitol offense, thousands would have died. A cleaver printer even offered “bee back” cards. It had a bee flying around it and said, “I promise (write your name in the blank space here) that I will be back. It offered $50 off the purchase if they presented the card. I gave way tons of these cards; no one came back.
“454 With An Attitude”. I thought this was a really clever title, tying in the legendary GM big block displacement with a lousy credit score. The entry would have been about flakes with an attitude. How this tied in with a big block I have no idea. I did end up writing about flakes in another entry but not exclusively about their attitudes, which in many cases is shitty.
“Sales Trainers” I have touched upon these maggots in the past, but not with the vitriol I had planned as a full out assault on their integrity. The basic premise is if these guys are so good at selling cars, they should be selling cars not jacking gullible green peas. You know, just thinking about them pisses me off, so maybe I will write about them in the future.
“The Popeye Syndrome”. This little ditty is an old favorite of mine. It has to do with the Popeye cartoon saying, “I’ve had all I can stands, and I can’t take no more”! Car men experience this state of being all the time especially with sales managers, but I’ve been unable to flesh the thing out. Maybe I’ve had all I can stands.
“Black Girls” I would love to write an entire entry on my experiences selling cars to African-American females, but I fear being branded a racist. All I can say is sometimes the truth hurts, and I’m afraid to say more.
“Dealership Personalities”. This could be an entire entry; I just don’t feel like writing it. It has to do with a dealerships vibe being very close to that of the owners. You fill in the blanks.
“Bore and Stroke”. In the olden days, car brochures were full of technical information: compression ratios, axle ratios, and the bore and stroke of an engine. Not being a mechanic, I was never sure what bore and stroke actually was except for a vague idea that it had something to do with pistons. I have vivid memories of propeller heads with slide rules using this information to come up with some sort of efficiency ratio of the car. Car Men hated these guys because they were extreme mooches.
As a kid I remember an old Car Man explaining bore and stroke. “The bore is $1000 down, and the stroke is $200 per month!” Amen.
Well kids, this concludes my list. I can now throw it away and make room for more stupid thoughts. Hopefully they will come on a timely basis. I enjoy doing this. It keeps me from thinking about the real issues in life.
Talk to you later,
David
George Of The Rain Forest
Somewhere along the line the jungle was taken from me. The mysterious, dangerous territory of my youthful imagination, filled snakes, tigers and an infinite number of other dangerous creatures was high jacked, replaced by a tedious, castrated place called the rain forest.
Yawn.
In these boring, politically correct times it’s not polite to call a rain forest a jungle. No, no no. A jungle is a dark forbidding place. A rain forest, on the other hand, is a place of gentle greenery and cute, precocious endangered animals, a perfect for your next vegan picnic. When they talk about those bad people trying to carve out a little farmland in the Amazon, they are destroying the rain forest! It doesn’t sound right if they’re destroying the jungle because the term jungle sounds like it deserves to be cut down!
So Tarzan’s parents didn’t crash in a treacherous foreboding jungle filled with dangers at every turn. He was Tarzan King Of The Rain Forest. Don’t you like the way that rolls of the tongue? Either way he was raised by apes. And what about my good friend George? Can’t you hear the children singing, “George, George, George of the rain forest”? Speaking of songs, you all remember that classic Creedence Clearwater song. Sing it with me now, “Better run through the rain forest. . .”
I don’t care what anyone says, the crew of that PT boat in the movie “Apocalypse Now” wasn’t going up the Mekong River into the depths of the rain forest. That, my friends, was a jungle.
I wonder, do they still have the jungle cruise ride at Disneyland? If they’ve changed it to the rain forest cruise I might have to slit my wrists.
I find it interesting how our language is being subdued all for the sake of political correctness. Garbage men became sanitation engineers. Housewives are now homemakers. The next thing you know, car salesmen will be referred as transportation consultants! They’re making a pussy out of our beloved English language!
Never again can I sing a rousing chorus of the theme from “The Flintstones” at my local bar. The ending, “we’ll have a gay old time” might be misunderstood. Someone might beat the crap out of me and dump my body in a rain forest!
In the summer it’s not hot any more. No way. Its climate change. (Climate change has replaced the term global warming, because apparently the globe hasn’t gotten any hotter in the last ten years.) Instead of just getting some lemonade or a cold beer, and watching a ball game on the tube, we’ve got to feel guilty that it’s a hundred degrees outside. There are dead polar bears out there and it’s our fault. And moving them to the rain forest won’t help! (I fully realize that this paragraph doesn’t really fit the subject, but it’s my blog so get used to it.)
So I say we’ve got to take a stand on this stuff, and I’m here to put forth the proposition that we start with our beloved jungles. I don’t want to go on a Safari (oops, I’m sorry, a photo Safari) in a rain forest. I want a jungle. And throw in a little quicksand while you’re at it. After all I’m a big mean transportation consultant. I can handle it!
Talk to you later,
David
Yawn.
In these boring, politically correct times it’s not polite to call a rain forest a jungle. No, no no. A jungle is a dark forbidding place. A rain forest, on the other hand, is a place of gentle greenery and cute, precocious endangered animals, a perfect for your next vegan picnic. When they talk about those bad people trying to carve out a little farmland in the Amazon, they are destroying the rain forest! It doesn’t sound right if they’re destroying the jungle because the term jungle sounds like it deserves to be cut down!
So Tarzan’s parents didn’t crash in a treacherous foreboding jungle filled with dangers at every turn. He was Tarzan King Of The Rain Forest. Don’t you like the way that rolls of the tongue? Either way he was raised by apes. And what about my good friend George? Can’t you hear the children singing, “George, George, George of the rain forest”? Speaking of songs, you all remember that classic Creedence Clearwater song. Sing it with me now, “Better run through the rain forest. . .”
I don’t care what anyone says, the crew of that PT boat in the movie “Apocalypse Now” wasn’t going up the Mekong River into the depths of the rain forest. That, my friends, was a jungle.
I wonder, do they still have the jungle cruise ride at Disneyland? If they’ve changed it to the rain forest cruise I might have to slit my wrists.
I find it interesting how our language is being subdued all for the sake of political correctness. Garbage men became sanitation engineers. Housewives are now homemakers. The next thing you know, car salesmen will be referred as transportation consultants! They’re making a pussy out of our beloved English language!
Never again can I sing a rousing chorus of the theme from “The Flintstones” at my local bar. The ending, “we’ll have a gay old time” might be misunderstood. Someone might beat the crap out of me and dump my body in a rain forest!
In the summer it’s not hot any more. No way. Its climate change. (Climate change has replaced the term global warming, because apparently the globe hasn’t gotten any hotter in the last ten years.) Instead of just getting some lemonade or a cold beer, and watching a ball game on the tube, we’ve got to feel guilty that it’s a hundred degrees outside. There are dead polar bears out there and it’s our fault. And moving them to the rain forest won’t help! (I fully realize that this paragraph doesn’t really fit the subject, but it’s my blog so get used to it.)
So I say we’ve got to take a stand on this stuff, and I’m here to put forth the proposition that we start with our beloved jungles. I don’t want to go on a Safari (oops, I’m sorry, a photo Safari) in a rain forest. I want a jungle. And throw in a little quicksand while you’re at it. After all I’m a big mean transportation consultant. I can handle it!
Talk to you later,
David
The Closing Booth
I was thinking about the old car salesman bar on Oakland’s auto row that was called “The Blue Book”. I had the sudden flash, a “great idea”, that I’m certain will make me (and my backers) very, very rich. It involves a chain of bars, each conveniently situated near car dealerships called “The Closing Booth”.
Just think of it. A watering whole dedicated to soothing the battered Car Man after work, aka the walking wounded of the retail world. The way I envision it is that each bar will have a car oriented theme. Kind of like the “Hard Rock Café” with old wheel covers instead of guitars.
Let’s face it. Car Men and drinking go together like mustard and hot dogs, and “The Closing Booth” will attract them like moths to a light bulb. If you build it, they will come. I guarantee it. Each night when the dealerships close, the salesmen will gather together for a relaxing couple of hours of drinks, bullshiting and be merriment.
The way see it, the bar itself could resemble one of those 80’s style “sales towers”. You know, the type of sales desk where you were forced to look up at the desk man like he’s God. In this case instead of a grumpy asshole with crumbs on his shirt it would be a bartender, preferably a young lady with a good set of high beams and the ability to make a decent dry martini. There you can sit with your peers, tell war stories, and bitch about incompetent sales managers.
The booths, of course, would all have a closing booth theme. Old write-ups complete with red pencils informing the customer that their offer is below cost could be put under glass on the table tops. Menus for things like Buffalo wings and chili cheese fries could resemble credit apps.
My vision includes a “The Others” detector at the entrance. Non car people will be forced to negotiate for their beer and have to talk to at least one liner during their visit. If nothing else it’ll be fun to watch.
I n order to make the place interesting I propose reduced prices on drinks for the ladies during between 9 and 11 PM, the prime Car Man drinking hours. In keeping with the overall theme, if a Car Man fails to close a deal with one of these ladies, the deal must be turned or face expulsion to an Applebees for the next thirty days.
Membership to the exclusive “Bee Back Club” will be offered to all those who can prove an average of fifteen cars per month or can certify they have a drinking problem. Members will have their own area “The Bone Yard” a posh “VIP only” back room that feature imaginative booths that pay homage to the classic American luxury cars. The ideas that are flowing from my over productive mind is boggling!
Franchise opportunities soon will be offered. So don’t miss out on your chance to retire from the line and doing a much more rewarding work: keeping your fellow Car Men in a state of intoxication. I tell you it’s the wave of the future!
Talk to you later,
David
Just think of it. A watering whole dedicated to soothing the battered Car Man after work, aka the walking wounded of the retail world. The way I envision it is that each bar will have a car oriented theme. Kind of like the “Hard Rock Café” with old wheel covers instead of guitars.
Let’s face it. Car Men and drinking go together like mustard and hot dogs, and “The Closing Booth” will attract them like moths to a light bulb. If you build it, they will come. I guarantee it. Each night when the dealerships close, the salesmen will gather together for a relaxing couple of hours of drinks, bullshiting and be merriment.
The way see it, the bar itself could resemble one of those 80’s style “sales towers”. You know, the type of sales desk where you were forced to look up at the desk man like he’s God. In this case instead of a grumpy asshole with crumbs on his shirt it would be a bartender, preferably a young lady with a good set of high beams and the ability to make a decent dry martini. There you can sit with your peers, tell war stories, and bitch about incompetent sales managers.
The booths, of course, would all have a closing booth theme. Old write-ups complete with red pencils informing the customer that their offer is below cost could be put under glass on the table tops. Menus for things like Buffalo wings and chili cheese fries could resemble credit apps.
My vision includes a “The Others” detector at the entrance. Non car people will be forced to negotiate for their beer and have to talk to at least one liner during their visit. If nothing else it’ll be fun to watch.
I n order to make the place interesting I propose reduced prices on drinks for the ladies during between 9 and 11 PM, the prime Car Man drinking hours. In keeping with the overall theme, if a Car Man fails to close a deal with one of these ladies, the deal must be turned or face expulsion to an Applebees for the next thirty days.
Membership to the exclusive “Bee Back Club” will be offered to all those who can prove an average of fifteen cars per month or can certify they have a drinking problem. Members will have their own area “The Bone Yard” a posh “VIP only” back room that feature imaginative booths that pay homage to the classic American luxury cars. The ideas that are flowing from my over productive mind is boggling!
Franchise opportunities soon will be offered. So don’t miss out on your chance to retire from the line and doing a much more rewarding work: keeping your fellow Car Men in a state of intoxication. I tell you it’s the wave of the future!
Talk to you later,
David
Creative Ideas For Fun And Profit
When I was a kid back in the 60’s, I used to do dealer trades for Hayward Ford. I remember going to a Ford dealership in the Napa valley and discovering that along with selling cars and trucks they were also selling Philco televisions! (Ford Motor Company owned Philco.)
Over the years this memory has stuck with me and during times of hubris, I’ve speculated that every car dealership should do something other than sell cars. Let’s face it, us car men spend an awful lot of time doing nothing. I realize that this is part of our legacy, but when times are tuff—as they are now—it can get damn boring. So here are my ideas on what we can do with those big lots and long showrooms that are our home away from home.
A bowling alley. A lot of dealerships have long showrooms that virtually do nothing but house a couple of new cars with dead batteries. How about a little three-laner? It can bring in a little money and provide some activities other than listening to XM radio over the dealership’s shitty loudspeakers. The concessions alone could help make the guy’s rent each month.
Tax service. Now this idea has a flaw in that it would probably only be useful a few months out of the year, but think of it. You take that idle computer sitting in the back office, load it with a Turbo Tax program, do returns for a cheap price, and presto! Instant down payments! You know, the more I think about this the better I like it.
An in-house microbrewery. Why is this a good idea? Because I like micro brewed beer and grape vines might scratch up the sides of the cars.
Sell other things with motors. Lawn tractors and rototillers in the spring, jet skis in the summer, and for those of you in snow country, snowmobiles in the winter.
Home electronics. Showrooms are perfect for some big screen TV’s and surround sound systems. Even if you didn’t sell one, it will be great if you’re stuck working on Super bowl Sunday. Throw in microwave ovens and blenders and you have what you need for a party when the dealer goes home for the night.
These are just a few of the creative ways car men can expand their horizons and their pocket books. I’m sure you can think of a few yourselves, but remember the tax idea is mine.
Talk to you later,
David
Over the years this memory has stuck with me and during times of hubris, I’ve speculated that every car dealership should do something other than sell cars. Let’s face it, us car men spend an awful lot of time doing nothing. I realize that this is part of our legacy, but when times are tuff—as they are now—it can get damn boring. So here are my ideas on what we can do with those big lots and long showrooms that are our home away from home.
A bowling alley. A lot of dealerships have long showrooms that virtually do nothing but house a couple of new cars with dead batteries. How about a little three-laner? It can bring in a little money and provide some activities other than listening to XM radio over the dealership’s shitty loudspeakers. The concessions alone could help make the guy’s rent each month.
Tax service. Now this idea has a flaw in that it would probably only be useful a few months out of the year, but think of it. You take that idle computer sitting in the back office, load it with a Turbo Tax program, do returns for a cheap price, and presto! Instant down payments! You know, the more I think about this the better I like it.
An in-house microbrewery. Why is this a good idea? Because I like micro brewed beer and grape vines might scratch up the sides of the cars.
Sell other things with motors. Lawn tractors and rototillers in the spring, jet skis in the summer, and for those of you in snow country, snowmobiles in the winter.
Home electronics. Showrooms are perfect for some big screen TV’s and surround sound systems. Even if you didn’t sell one, it will be great if you’re stuck working on Super bowl Sunday. Throw in microwave ovens and blenders and you have what you need for a party when the dealer goes home for the night.
These are just a few of the creative ways car men can expand their horizons and their pocket books. I’m sure you can think of a few yourselves, but remember the tax idea is mine.
Talk to you later,
David
Consumer Reports
I was listening to the radio the other day. A guy from Consumer Reports magazine was on praising the latest, greatest Honda. It got me thinking about my dislike for that rag and the grief it’s caused me over the years. In the days before the Internet, Consumer Reports was the magic talisman of choice customers would throw up to you like a priest holding off a vampire with a cross.
American made cars can’t get a break in Consumer Reports. Now I realize that much of this bad press justified, but I believe the magazine is still trying to punish Detroit for the quality sins of the 60ʼs and 70ʼs. Like the reverberating echoes of the Big Bang, they can’t let go of the memories of Ford Pintos and Chevy Vegas.
If you’re a past reader of this blog, you know how much I dislike propeller heads, who just happen to be the prime readers of Consumer Reports. The magazine is an integral part of their smoke free, global warming, Democrat voting, Birkenstock wearing life style. Reading negative articles about domestic cars plays right into their self-loathing opinion of America in general, and their distaste for American industry as a whole.
What’s this got to do with cars? Everything. It’s a fact that Japanese cars are generally better than American cars, but to continually try to compare the two is fruitless. By constantly touting Japanese cars, Consumer Reports is doing nothing but catering to their target audience. These people wouldn’t buy an American car anyway, so it’s no use trying to find the best America has to offer.
It’s like a guy with one beautiful daughter and four ugly ones. The ugly ones might never be judged on their own merits because the beautiful one gets the constant attention.
In my opinion Consumer Reports should review American cars exclusively. Give the Japanese favorites a Mulligan and try to do something productive for the shrinking American piece of the automotive pie. Heck, given the wide range of performance and quality of Detroit’s finest makes them hell of a lot more interesting to write about than what’s better an Accord or a Camry.
Now the paranoid part of me wants to think that all of this dumping on Detroit has something to do with the “one world, no borders” insanity being thrown around by the Liberals. Shitty quality or not, there might come a time when we will have to protect ourselves from an outside world that has little or no environmental protection in their countries and workers that paid only slightly above slave wages.
America first, I say. And if you have to replace the transmission in that Dodge at 60,000 so be it!
Talk to you later,
David
American made cars can’t get a break in Consumer Reports. Now I realize that much of this bad press justified, but I believe the magazine is still trying to punish Detroit for the quality sins of the 60ʼs and 70ʼs. Like the reverberating echoes of the Big Bang, they can’t let go of the memories of Ford Pintos and Chevy Vegas.
If you’re a past reader of this blog, you know how much I dislike propeller heads, who just happen to be the prime readers of Consumer Reports. The magazine is an integral part of their smoke free, global warming, Democrat voting, Birkenstock wearing life style. Reading negative articles about domestic cars plays right into their self-loathing opinion of America in general, and their distaste for American industry as a whole.
What’s this got to do with cars? Everything. It’s a fact that Japanese cars are generally better than American cars, but to continually try to compare the two is fruitless. By constantly touting Japanese cars, Consumer Reports is doing nothing but catering to their target audience. These people wouldn’t buy an American car anyway, so it’s no use trying to find the best America has to offer.
It’s like a guy with one beautiful daughter and four ugly ones. The ugly ones might never be judged on their own merits because the beautiful one gets the constant attention.
In my opinion Consumer Reports should review American cars exclusively. Give the Japanese favorites a Mulligan and try to do something productive for the shrinking American piece of the automotive pie. Heck, given the wide range of performance and quality of Detroit’s finest makes them hell of a lot more interesting to write about than what’s better an Accord or a Camry.
Now the paranoid part of me wants to think that all of this dumping on Detroit has something to do with the “one world, no borders” insanity being thrown around by the Liberals. Shitty quality or not, there might come a time when we will have to protect ourselves from an outside world that has little or no environmental protection in their countries and workers that paid only slightly above slave wages.
America first, I say. And if you have to replace the transmission in that Dodge at 60,000 so be it!
Talk to you later,
David
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