Every Car Man experiences a month that makes him feel like driving a car into a wall. That was me in May 2010. As I mentioned at the beginning of the month, I made grand slam on May 1st. I made the mistake of posting this joyous fact on this blog, thereby pissing off the Car God. I should have known better. The Car God doesn’t like it when you brag too much. He will zap you with a cosmic lightning bolt that will put your sales in the dumbster quicker than you can say “Who’s up?”
That’s what happened to me.
The event was exasperated by the way we get paid. We get a check twice a month. Everything sold up to the fifteen gets paid on the sixteenth. Sales made during the rest of the month are paid on the first. It’s a great way to pay a salesman in my opinion, but the downside is that you tend to blow the money you made during the first half in expectations of a great second one.
One would think that if you make a $2500 pop on the first day of the freaking month you are going to have a pretty good half. I mean you’ve got two weeks to make would will surely be a great paycheck. Well, at least that the way it works in theory, but from the first to the fifteenth only I made an additional an additional $450. I wasn’t complaining too much, but it was not the half I had envisioned. What exasperated me was that I blanked the last week of the pay period! Oh, well. Come the sixteenth I got paid, and the rest of the month lay ahead of me like some great unpainted canvas. I had great expectations.
I blanked for the next two weeks.
There’s nothing worse than not selling a car for three weeks. It’s pure mental agony full of self-doubt and accusations. It’s a very humbling experience that can leave you mind-numbingly depressed. Had I lost my ability to sell a car? It seemed that everyone I spoke to was a either a crazy person or a car thief. I was even thinking about pulling out the ultimate close, “Buy the car, or I will kill you!”
I was scheduled off Memorial Day weekend; three glorious days to spend with my older brother, Danny, visiting here from Virginia. (see photo at the bottom of the page) I had it all planned out: wine tasting, lazy bullshit infused lunches, scotch and water at a local bar. But that was not to be. I had to work.
Saturday the 29th I didn’t have a dime made. You know, it never ceases to amaze me how our business works. “What goes around comes around” says the second rule that governs all Car Men everywhere. I made $1800 on Saturday, another $250 on Sunday and Monday.
Shit.
Will the Car God be pissed off at me again for telling you this little story? I had the first two days of June off (thanks to Pablo and Tony), and as I write this early in the morning on the third, I am wondering what the month of June will hold for me.
I just hope the sales are spread out a little.
David
P.S. A brief word to The Others: This blog is not written with you in mind, but you are welcome to read it. But please spare me your wrath if what I say insults you. Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think about Car Men.
There's No Night Like The First Night
When I was a young aspiring Car Man, I worked with a salesman named Bill Blount. Bill was the proto-typical dirty old man. Just about everything that came out of his mouth had some sort of sexual connotation. He was a homely man, slightly hunchbacked, who spoke in a booming baritone and was fond of singing off-key country-western songs in the middle of the showroom floor.
Bill was always willing to share his perverted views of the world. His favorite saying by far was “a suck is a suck”. (There is a really great story behind that little tidbit. If you want to read about it check out my blog entry posted on November 13, 2007.) But Bill had another favorite expression, and that is what I want to talk about here. He used to say, “There’s no night like the first night.”
Bill usually used this term while recounting his weekend hunts for what he called “old stoves” with his wingman Roger Marvel—or as I liked to call him, The Captain. Together they would prowl the singles bars of the East Bay that catered to an older crowed looking for desperate women of a certain age.
Bill also used this saying when talking about customers. He would often look at me and say, “You know, David, there’s no night like the first night.” What the hell was this old coot talking about? I just thought he was messing with me. Then one day, long after Bill had gone to that big used car lot in the sky, I realized what he meant. He was trying to tell me that my first encounter with a customer was the best chance to make a deal and hold a decent gross.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for following up the customers you "up" on the lot if for no other reason than it gives you something to do during your down times. But a wise Car Man knows that the best chance at making a decent commission is when you first encounter them. Follow-up calls, or as I like to call them begging calls, generally mean less money. Every time you call a prospect and try to entice them back your commission gets smaller and smaller.
So if you’re going to work the lot, your aim should not be to accumulate prospects, your goal should be to sell them a car NOW. When you go out to face them ask yourself this: would I rather have a nice commission now or a mini later? Now whore that I am I will take the mini later if I have to. But I do so grudgingly and it really pisses me off. We work hard and should be rewarded for our efforts. The Others are always looking for ways to screw us. Don’t let them do it to you!
So with this philosophy in mind, it's important that you become a pro at selling a car right now. For any of The Others who might have stumbled across the blog this does not mean ripping people off. It does not mean dishonesty. It does not mean any of the screwed up things you think you know about us. It means doing a professional job and earning a living for your family.
Now if I don’t say so myself I’m pretty good at selling a car right now—assuming the customer wants to buy a car in the first place. I’m not very good at convincing people to buy who don’t really want to. I’ll leave all those fancy closes to those fancy sales trainers. What I’m good at is recognizing a buyer and doing the correct things to maximize my chances of the both of us going home happy.
A lot of people think that there is some special time at the end of the sale where you say some magical words and close the deal. And though there always is a final professionally executed closing question, a car deal is made up of a series of many mini closes. From the moment you meet and greet a customer, you are closing them. The smile on your face is the first close. In those critical few seconds when your eyes lock with theirs and the first impressions are made the closing begins.
David
UP NEXT: Have Them See You As Human
Bill was always willing to share his perverted views of the world. His favorite saying by far was “a suck is a suck”. (There is a really great story behind that little tidbit. If you want to read about it check out my blog entry posted on November 13, 2007.) But Bill had another favorite expression, and that is what I want to talk about here. He used to say, “There’s no night like the first night.”
Bill usually used this term while recounting his weekend hunts for what he called “old stoves” with his wingman Roger Marvel—or as I liked to call him, The Captain. Together they would prowl the singles bars of the East Bay that catered to an older crowed looking for desperate women of a certain age.
Bill also used this saying when talking about customers. He would often look at me and say, “You know, David, there’s no night like the first night.” What the hell was this old coot talking about? I just thought he was messing with me. Then one day, long after Bill had gone to that big used car lot in the sky, I realized what he meant. He was trying to tell me that my first encounter with a customer was the best chance to make a deal and hold a decent gross.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for following up the customers you "up" on the lot if for no other reason than it gives you something to do during your down times. But a wise Car Man knows that the best chance at making a decent commission is when you first encounter them. Follow-up calls, or as I like to call them begging calls, generally mean less money. Every time you call a prospect and try to entice them back your commission gets smaller and smaller.
So if you’re going to work the lot, your aim should not be to accumulate prospects, your goal should be to sell them a car NOW. When you go out to face them ask yourself this: would I rather have a nice commission now or a mini later? Now whore that I am I will take the mini later if I have to. But I do so grudgingly and it really pisses me off. We work hard and should be rewarded for our efforts. The Others are always looking for ways to screw us. Don’t let them do it to you!
So with this philosophy in mind, it's important that you become a pro at selling a car right now. For any of The Others who might have stumbled across the blog this does not mean ripping people off. It does not mean dishonesty. It does not mean any of the screwed up things you think you know about us. It means doing a professional job and earning a living for your family.
Now if I don’t say so myself I’m pretty good at selling a car right now—assuming the customer wants to buy a car in the first place. I’m not very good at convincing people to buy who don’t really want to. I’ll leave all those fancy closes to those fancy sales trainers. What I’m good at is recognizing a buyer and doing the correct things to maximize my chances of the both of us going home happy.
A lot of people think that there is some special time at the end of the sale where you say some magical words and close the deal. And though there always is a final professionally executed closing question, a car deal is made up of a series of many mini closes. From the moment you meet and greet a customer, you are closing them. The smile on your face is the first close. In those critical few seconds when your eyes lock with theirs and the first impressions are made the closing begins.
David
UP NEXT: Have Them See You As Human
On The Lot With David Teves
Saturday, May 1, 2010
I sold a car today and made a $2460 commission. I say this not to brag (well, maybe a little) but to point out a simple truth about our business: It’s a hard life, frustrating at times to the point of madness. Sometimes you look out over the lot and ask yourself, why the hell did I go down the road that led to this shit? Then you hit a grand slam. The universe rights itself a little and you remember the good things about selling iron for a living!
Later in the day, I waited on a lady. About forty, I’d guess. She told me she was going to buy a truck soon. She looked at me with sad eyes and said, “My husband of twenty years decided he didn’t want to be married anymore.”
Here I’d just made this huge pop and reality stepped in to deliver a message about the human condition! You take the good and savor it. You take the bad and try to deal with it as best (and as ethically) as you can.
Life goes on.
The big commission is now in the past.
David
P.S. Sorry for the delay in my next installment. I got involved in a project involving the 7538 songs in my iTunes library and it derailed me. (Thanks Scott!) Now that it’s done I hope to be on track with useless advice in the next few days.
I sold a car today and made a $2460 commission. I say this not to brag (well, maybe a little) but to point out a simple truth about our business: It’s a hard life, frustrating at times to the point of madness. Sometimes you look out over the lot and ask yourself, why the hell did I go down the road that led to this shit? Then you hit a grand slam. The universe rights itself a little and you remember the good things about selling iron for a living!
Later in the day, I waited on a lady. About forty, I’d guess. She told me she was going to buy a truck soon. She looked at me with sad eyes and said, “My husband of twenty years decided he didn’t want to be married anymore.”
Here I’d just made this huge pop and reality stepped in to deliver a message about the human condition! You take the good and savor it. You take the bad and try to deal with it as best (and as ethically) as you can.
Life goes on.
The big commission is now in the past.
David
P.S. Sorry for the delay in my next installment. I got involved in a project involving the 7538 songs in my iTunes library and it derailed me. (Thanks Scott!) Now that it’s done I hope to be on track with useless advice in the next few days.
Living In The Now
If you’re going to be a Car Man, one of the things you have to decide is where your going to spend your car selling time: Will it be in the future? In the past? Or will it be in the now? Actually living in the future and the past are related, (I like to call it future/past.) and traditionally it is the preferred way of approaching the art of selling cars.
What the hell am I talking about? The long-established image of a Car Man (and propagated by the manufactures and sales trainers) is a salesman who follows up on his past customers and prospects them for sales in the future. When I was a kid, this was drummed into me. The general theory is that after about ten years on the line, you shouldn’t have to take anymore fresh ups because all the people you previously sold cars and trucks to would diligently come back and buy from you again and again. And if you were still relying on taking ups after ten years, you, my friend, are nothing but a floor whore.
I’m sure that in many places in this great land of ours selling in the future/past is still possible, especially in established dealerships in smaller cities and towns. “Need a new car? Let’s go down and see Fred over at Nogross Ford. Bought eight cars from Ed over the years. Helluva guy.” But as my friend Andy might say, that’s a different paradigm, and in this case he just might be right.
Let me explain.
If you are working in a big turnover house, striving for repeat customers is not a practical way of surviving. First of all as a liner you may never see your customer again once you get the commitment and write-up except to say good-bye after he gets out of finance. The chances of making that coveted connection that will magically make him and his family loyal to you for years to come is just not there. (They might make a connection with the closer or even the F&I man but not you.)
In the big system houses salesmen are nothing but cannon fodder. Hell, they might get rid of you after ninety days so they won’t have to pay you benefits! These whorehouses are incredibly shitty places to work, but they do serve a purpose. They are the boot camps for future Car Men. Can you stand the pressure? Can you stand the hours? Can you stand the managers? You learn quickly that the only way to survive in these places is to live in the now, where there is no yesterday, and there may be no tomorrow. Take your ups, learn your craft, and hope for the best.
The choice of living in the future/past or living in the now has a lot to do with your personality. The more social a person you are, the greater the chances you have of making long-term connections with people and establishing repeat sales in the future. If you are lucky enough to find a dealership that will be a home for the years to come, you can use this as a good way of making a living. But be forewarned: The downside of future/past is that as you make these connections and your relationships with these customers becomes more and more personal you tend to make less and less money on each sale.
Then there are Car Men like me.
I don’t like people much. Years and years of dealing with The Others and their schemes have pretty much made me a loner. I don’t say this with pride. It’s actually quite sad when you think about it. Though I think the customers I sell cars to like me, and I have had my share of repeat sales, I’m not the type of guy who generates long-term loyalty in customers. So as far as the car business is concerned, I live in the now. Each day when I go to work there is no past or future, only that day. I go in and try to cut one out of the herd so to speak. I’m not saying this is right. It’s probably not for most people. But it works for me. So I may be nothing but an old floor whore, but if I don’t say so myself, I think I’m a pretty good one.
If you ask anyone I work with, they will tell you that my favorite expression is, “It’s in the past.” I don’t worry too much about what happened yesterday, whether I made a mini or found a big dummy with a way to go. Yesterday is gone, and you can’t get it back. The only thing you have to hold onto in this business is the now, this precious moment, and how you can use it for your advantage. Does this make any sense or is it just “Zen and the Art of Selling Cars”?
The downside of living in the now is that you’re dependent on floor traffic and the whims of the economy. Your ass is hanging out there all the time. The upside is if you do it right, you tend to make a lot more money per deal. In terms of this blog, this is where I may come in handy. Living in the now has made me learn a lot about the process of selling cars, about lining customers the right way, and committing them to buy. And in future posts I hope to share with you the things I have learned over the years that I know will work for you--even if you live in the future/past.
David
UP NEXT: There’s No Night Like The First Night
What the hell am I talking about? The long-established image of a Car Man (and propagated by the manufactures and sales trainers) is a salesman who follows up on his past customers and prospects them for sales in the future. When I was a kid, this was drummed into me. The general theory is that after about ten years on the line, you shouldn’t have to take anymore fresh ups because all the people you previously sold cars and trucks to would diligently come back and buy from you again and again. And if you were still relying on taking ups after ten years, you, my friend, are nothing but a floor whore.
I’m sure that in many places in this great land of ours selling in the future/past is still possible, especially in established dealerships in smaller cities and towns. “Need a new car? Let’s go down and see Fred over at Nogross Ford. Bought eight cars from Ed over the years. Helluva guy.” But as my friend Andy might say, that’s a different paradigm, and in this case he just might be right.
Let me explain.
If you are working in a big turnover house, striving for repeat customers is not a practical way of surviving. First of all as a liner you may never see your customer again once you get the commitment and write-up except to say good-bye after he gets out of finance. The chances of making that coveted connection that will magically make him and his family loyal to you for years to come is just not there. (They might make a connection with the closer or even the F&I man but not you.)
In the big system houses salesmen are nothing but cannon fodder. Hell, they might get rid of you after ninety days so they won’t have to pay you benefits! These whorehouses are incredibly shitty places to work, but they do serve a purpose. They are the boot camps for future Car Men. Can you stand the pressure? Can you stand the hours? Can you stand the managers? You learn quickly that the only way to survive in these places is to live in the now, where there is no yesterday, and there may be no tomorrow. Take your ups, learn your craft, and hope for the best.
The choice of living in the future/past or living in the now has a lot to do with your personality. The more social a person you are, the greater the chances you have of making long-term connections with people and establishing repeat sales in the future. If you are lucky enough to find a dealership that will be a home for the years to come, you can use this as a good way of making a living. But be forewarned: The downside of future/past is that as you make these connections and your relationships with these customers becomes more and more personal you tend to make less and less money on each sale.
Then there are Car Men like me.
I don’t like people much. Years and years of dealing with The Others and their schemes have pretty much made me a loner. I don’t say this with pride. It’s actually quite sad when you think about it. Though I think the customers I sell cars to like me, and I have had my share of repeat sales, I’m not the type of guy who generates long-term loyalty in customers. So as far as the car business is concerned, I live in the now. Each day when I go to work there is no past or future, only that day. I go in and try to cut one out of the herd so to speak. I’m not saying this is right. It’s probably not for most people. But it works for me. So I may be nothing but an old floor whore, but if I don’t say so myself, I think I’m a pretty good one.
If you ask anyone I work with, they will tell you that my favorite expression is, “It’s in the past.” I don’t worry too much about what happened yesterday, whether I made a mini or found a big dummy with a way to go. Yesterday is gone, and you can’t get it back. The only thing you have to hold onto in this business is the now, this precious moment, and how you can use it for your advantage. Does this make any sense or is it just “Zen and the Art of Selling Cars”?
The downside of living in the now is that you’re dependent on floor traffic and the whims of the economy. Your ass is hanging out there all the time. The upside is if you do it right, you tend to make a lot more money per deal. In terms of this blog, this is where I may come in handy. Living in the now has made me learn a lot about the process of selling cars, about lining customers the right way, and committing them to buy. And in future posts I hope to share with you the things I have learned over the years that I know will work for you--even if you live in the future/past.
David
UP NEXT: There’s No Night Like The First Night
Paradigm Paralysis
I work with a salesman. Let’s call him Andy. He’s an affable guy who likes to work seven days a week (what’s that all about?) and enjoys spending a lot of quality time with the jack-offs—oops, I meant to say prospects--on Craig’s List. He is convinced that the car business has changed and the old ways irrelevant, and those of us who refuse to accept this fact are suffering from something he calls “paradigm paralysis”. Now what kind of propeller-head bullshit is that?
Over the past forty years I’ve been selling cars some things have changed. Cars and trucks are more expensive. That’s it. True, we now have the Internet, and yes it has given The Others new and improved ways of shopping us, but out on the line where the rubber meets the road nothing has changed.
I’ll give you an analogy: Your wife goes out and gets a make over. She comes home with new and improved hair and make-up, a new dress of the latest style with accessories to match. Damn she looks good! But in the end, when the dress comes off after the romantic diner you felt compelled to take her on, she’s still the same wife you’ve shared a bed with for the last twenty years.
It’s the same with the car business. You can pretty things up, try to find new and creative way to lure in customers and make extra sales, but underneath it is and will always be the same. When you encounter a prospect on your lot you still have to go through the same selling steps developed by the generations of Car Men that came before you, paradigm paralysis be damned. And if you think otherwise you, my friend, are a fool.
If you aspire to be a Car Man, you have to master the things that have always made this business work. You have to learn your craft and use it to your advantage. Regardless of what your managers or sales trainers tell you, you can’t make everyone you encounter happy. In reality all you have to do is to make eight to twelve people happy each month. Screw the rest of them. They don’t give a crap about you anyway!
The trick is to know the steps of the deal, execute them properly and in order, and gain control of the customer and the situation.
Ever been to a comedy club? The comedian comes out and does his act. If he’s good it sounds spontaneous. It’s almost as if he’s making it up as he goes along. I promise you this is not the case. A successful comedian works his ass off, perfecting his routine over the years so when its show time it comes as naturally off his tongue as, well, a Car Man selling a car.
So get your act together! Remember it’s war out there. It’s them against us so don’t take any prisoners. By that I don’t mean being overly aggressive, kinky or rude. That doesn’t work, and even if it does it will murder your CSI. Like Tony B. told me years ago, the sales process is like going to the doctor and getting a shot. First he rubs the alcohol on your arm and then he sticks the needle in you. It’s the same with The Others. First you have stroke them, gain their confidence, make them feel at ease.
Then you give them the shot!
David
UP NEXT: Living In The Now
Over the past forty years I’ve been selling cars some things have changed. Cars and trucks are more expensive. That’s it. True, we now have the Internet, and yes it has given The Others new and improved ways of shopping us, but out on the line where the rubber meets the road nothing has changed.
I’ll give you an analogy: Your wife goes out and gets a make over. She comes home with new and improved hair and make-up, a new dress of the latest style with accessories to match. Damn she looks good! But in the end, when the dress comes off after the romantic diner you felt compelled to take her on, she’s still the same wife you’ve shared a bed with for the last twenty years.
It’s the same with the car business. You can pretty things up, try to find new and creative way to lure in customers and make extra sales, but underneath it is and will always be the same. When you encounter a prospect on your lot you still have to go through the same selling steps developed by the generations of Car Men that came before you, paradigm paralysis be damned. And if you think otherwise you, my friend, are a fool.
If you aspire to be a Car Man, you have to master the things that have always made this business work. You have to learn your craft and use it to your advantage. Regardless of what your managers or sales trainers tell you, you can’t make everyone you encounter happy. In reality all you have to do is to make eight to twelve people happy each month. Screw the rest of them. They don’t give a crap about you anyway!
The trick is to know the steps of the deal, execute them properly and in order, and gain control of the customer and the situation.
Ever been to a comedy club? The comedian comes out and does his act. If he’s good it sounds spontaneous. It’s almost as if he’s making it up as he goes along. I promise you this is not the case. A successful comedian works his ass off, perfecting his routine over the years so when its show time it comes as naturally off his tongue as, well, a Car Man selling a car.
So get your act together! Remember it’s war out there. It’s them against us so don’t take any prisoners. By that I don’t mean being overly aggressive, kinky or rude. That doesn’t work, and even if it does it will murder your CSI. Like Tony B. told me years ago, the sales process is like going to the doctor and getting a shot. First he rubs the alcohol on your arm and then he sticks the needle in you. It’s the same with The Others. First you have stroke them, gain their confidence, make them feel at ease.
Then you give them the shot!
David
UP NEXT: Living In The Now
On The Lot With David Teves
I thought it would be fun to supplement my not so regular blog entries with something I called “On The Lot With David Teves”. I’ll do this whenever something interesting happens to me while doing battle with The Others. Hope you enjoy it!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
An older Saturn sedan came on the lot with a tow hitch at the front. A couple emerged from the car. The female passenger had a seeing-eye dog with her, a golden retriever who may have been the most beautiful dog I have ever seen.
Nice folks. Told me they were camping up the road and were just thinking about another tow vehicle. Not ready to buy today. Not good news but at least they were up front about it. I replied, “That’s okay. If I sold a car to everyone I have ever waited on I’d be lying on a beach in Tahiti right now.”
They landed on a Saturn VUE. Being the eternal optimist, I went in and retrieved the keys. The husband guided her to the car where she proceeded to run her hand delicately down the length of it noting every nook and cranny. I opened the back hatch and the front door. She felt around, her fingers painting a picture of a vehicle she would never drive.
Then this happened:
“What color is it, honey,” she asked her doting husband.
“It’s gold,” he replied.
She frowned. “I don’t like that color,” she said.
WHAT?
Note: Had my first encounter with a beloved firefighter. It didn’t end well.
David
Saturday, April 3, 2010
An older Saturn sedan came on the lot with a tow hitch at the front. A couple emerged from the car. The female passenger had a seeing-eye dog with her, a golden retriever who may have been the most beautiful dog I have ever seen.
Nice folks. Told me they were camping up the road and were just thinking about another tow vehicle. Not ready to buy today. Not good news but at least they were up front about it. I replied, “That’s okay. If I sold a car to everyone I have ever waited on I’d be lying on a beach in Tahiti right now.”
They landed on a Saturn VUE. Being the eternal optimist, I went in and retrieved the keys. The husband guided her to the car where she proceeded to run her hand delicately down the length of it noting every nook and cranny. I opened the back hatch and the front door. She felt around, her fingers painting a picture of a vehicle she would never drive.
Then this happened:
“What color is it, honey,” she asked her doting husband.
“It’s gold,” he replied.
She frowned. “I don’t like that color,” she said.
WHAT?
Note: Had my first encounter with a beloved firefighter. It didn’t end well.
David
Car Man
Note: If you have just stumbled across this blog, please take a moment to read the entry below. It is the first chapter of my maybe-it's-coming book, "Car Man". It will tell you a little about me, and the world of Car Men. If you find it enjoyable, I urge you to read on. Please feel free to leave a comment.
David Teves
No one ever graduated from high school or college and announced to family and friends, “I’m going to sell cars for a living!” So who exactly are Car Men, and where do we come from? And more importantly, why are we all so crazy? Car Men are crazy? Hell yeah! At least the good ones are. We have to be. What sane person would choose a profession as volatile as this, a profession that does not guarantee a steady monthly income, where you face a hostile world each day armed with only a pen, wits and a strong sense of survival?
A Car Man is a guy who did not want to do manual labor for a living. If he was in one of the trades, maybe he got injured or was just too damned tired to do it anymore. Maybe he lost a business or drove trucks and burned out on life on the road. Maybe life just threw him a curve ball, and he ended up working on a used car lot, a temporary situation that lasted twenty years.
Many Car Men are people who would not have made it in the corporate world. They do not have the personality, the temperament, or maybe they have too many bad habits. We are the dreamers, the failed musicians, the failed writers; too smart to work at McDonald’s but not smart enough to make much out of a college degree.
We are the people your parents warned you about: big talkers, opinionated assholes, egotistical bastards. We are the class clowns, the nonconformists, the ex-hippies, the ones you did not want dating you sister. We are by any standard a motley crew, a collection of offbeat personalities that collectively make the wheels of the automobile business spin.
My life as a Car Man officially began on October 20, 1970 at Hayward Ford in Hayward, California, a city across the bay from San Francisco. I was two months shy of my twenty-first birthday. Actually, my automotive career started a couple of years before. I paid my dues by doing odd jobs around the dealership, going on dealer trades, washing cars. Unbeknownst to me my older brother Danny, the dealership’s young sales manager, had gotten it into his head that he could teach me how to sell cars. I quickly fell into his trap. I was an insecure young man with few marketable skills, uncertain what I should do with my life. The only thing I had going for me was what my mother called “the gift of gab”. Translated that means “natural born bullshitter”. So when Danny offered me the opportunity I took it, though the thought of selling cars for a living scared the crap out of me.
Up to this point in my life my only contacts with adults were my parents, the parents of my friends and teachers. Nothing in my life experiences prepared me for the particular breed of adult known as a Car Man. When I joined the sales force at Hayward Ford I was the youngest salesman on the crew and would remain so for a pretty long time. The majority of the salesmen were old enough to be my fathers. When I began my Car Man journey I expected them to be like all the other adults in my life: respectable, fatherly, grown up. Nothing could have been further from the truth!
On my first day a salesman by the name of Jack Dunne, aka The Silver Fox due to his full head of striking white hair, took me aside and told me this: “David, there is no lie you can tell a customer that is better than the truth.” I never forgot those words because they turned out to be very true. Call it karma if you like, but if you lie to a customer it always seems to come back on you one way or another.
The second thing he said was this: “I want you to get off to a good start so here is a list of contacts you can call.” He handed me a sheet of names and numbers.
“Gee, Mr. Dunne. Thank you!” I said gratefully. It was not until later that I realized he had just laid off his dreaded “cold call” sheet on me!
This was my introduction into the life of a Car Man. Of course I would not be a real Car Man for many years. A Car Man is a guy who has been around for a while, the veteran of many battles, wizened to the ways of the world and the schemes of The Others. That was not me by a long shot!
But I did sell a car on my first day.
Shortly after I started, I attended my first “steak and bean” feed. Steak and bean feeds were a common event in the life of Car Men. Typically, they were the culmination of a month long contest. The crew was divided into two teams, each headed by a captain. The teams competed with each other for the most sales, the prize being a dinner where the winners ate steak and the losers ate beans--and all the cocktails you could drink. They could be wild affairs. I once attended a feed where the winning captain was awarded a hooker!
My first steak and bean feed was a surreal experience. I was a true child of
the 60’s, yet here I was in a fancy restaurant rubbing elbows with a bunch of guys in expensive suits most of whom were old enough to be my fathers. I was not yet twenty-one, but they insisted that I drink with them. I had no idea what to order. A scary, one-armed salesman by the name of Tony Isom appointed himself to help me choose. He suggested a salty dog, a mix of vodka and grapefruit juice with a salted rim.
“Always order it in a bucket,” he commanded in his booming voice. Who was I to argue? One did not mess with Tony. His one-handed grip could easily break your hand or disable a shoulder! I drank salty dogs that night and for many years after.
That night I ate beans much to the enjoyment of the winning team. After dinner we drifted back to the bar for a few more rounds. Later I was ushered into a back room where a group of drunken Car Men was sitting around a movie projector watching porno movies on a wobbly screen. These were my father figures?
When it was over the salesmen, most of who were quite drunk, loaded themselves into their Ford LTD Brougham demonstrators and drove home. It was not unusual for at least one demo bite the dust on one of these nights.
I will never forget that night for it seemed to be my formal introduction to adulthood. Never more would I just be the kid who did the dealer trades and washed cars after class. I was now one of them (or at least an apprentice one of them).
I had entered the world of Car Men.
David Teves
No one ever graduated from high school or college and announced to family and friends, “I’m going to sell cars for a living!” So who exactly are Car Men, and where do we come from? And more importantly, why are we all so crazy? Car Men are crazy? Hell yeah! At least the good ones are. We have to be. What sane person would choose a profession as volatile as this, a profession that does not guarantee a steady monthly income, where you face a hostile world each day armed with only a pen, wits and a strong sense of survival?
A Car Man is a guy who did not want to do manual labor for a living. If he was in one of the trades, maybe he got injured or was just too damned tired to do it anymore. Maybe he lost a business or drove trucks and burned out on life on the road. Maybe life just threw him a curve ball, and he ended up working on a used car lot, a temporary situation that lasted twenty years.
Many Car Men are people who would not have made it in the corporate world. They do not have the personality, the temperament, or maybe they have too many bad habits. We are the dreamers, the failed musicians, the failed writers; too smart to work at McDonald’s but not smart enough to make much out of a college degree.
We are the people your parents warned you about: big talkers, opinionated assholes, egotistical bastards. We are the class clowns, the nonconformists, the ex-hippies, the ones you did not want dating you sister. We are by any standard a motley crew, a collection of offbeat personalities that collectively make the wheels of the automobile business spin.
My life as a Car Man officially began on October 20, 1970 at Hayward Ford in Hayward, California, a city across the bay from San Francisco. I was two months shy of my twenty-first birthday. Actually, my automotive career started a couple of years before. I paid my dues by doing odd jobs around the dealership, going on dealer trades, washing cars. Unbeknownst to me my older brother Danny, the dealership’s young sales manager, had gotten it into his head that he could teach me how to sell cars. I quickly fell into his trap. I was an insecure young man with few marketable skills, uncertain what I should do with my life. The only thing I had going for me was what my mother called “the gift of gab”. Translated that means “natural born bullshitter”. So when Danny offered me the opportunity I took it, though the thought of selling cars for a living scared the crap out of me.
Up to this point in my life my only contacts with adults were my parents, the parents of my friends and teachers. Nothing in my life experiences prepared me for the particular breed of adult known as a Car Man. When I joined the sales force at Hayward Ford I was the youngest salesman on the crew and would remain so for a pretty long time. The majority of the salesmen were old enough to be my fathers. When I began my Car Man journey I expected them to be like all the other adults in my life: respectable, fatherly, grown up. Nothing could have been further from the truth!
On my first day a salesman by the name of Jack Dunne, aka The Silver Fox due to his full head of striking white hair, took me aside and told me this: “David, there is no lie you can tell a customer that is better than the truth.” I never forgot those words because they turned out to be very true. Call it karma if you like, but if you lie to a customer it always seems to come back on you one way or another.
The second thing he said was this: “I want you to get off to a good start so here is a list of contacts you can call.” He handed me a sheet of names and numbers.
“Gee, Mr. Dunne. Thank you!” I said gratefully. It was not until later that I realized he had just laid off his dreaded “cold call” sheet on me!
This was my introduction into the life of a Car Man. Of course I would not be a real Car Man for many years. A Car Man is a guy who has been around for a while, the veteran of many battles, wizened to the ways of the world and the schemes of The Others. That was not me by a long shot!
But I did sell a car on my first day.
Shortly after I started, I attended my first “steak and bean” feed. Steak and bean feeds were a common event in the life of Car Men. Typically, they were the culmination of a month long contest. The crew was divided into two teams, each headed by a captain. The teams competed with each other for the most sales, the prize being a dinner where the winners ate steak and the losers ate beans--and all the cocktails you could drink. They could be wild affairs. I once attended a feed where the winning captain was awarded a hooker!
My first steak and bean feed was a surreal experience. I was a true child of
the 60’s, yet here I was in a fancy restaurant rubbing elbows with a bunch of guys in expensive suits most of whom were old enough to be my fathers. I was not yet twenty-one, but they insisted that I drink with them. I had no idea what to order. A scary, one-armed salesman by the name of Tony Isom appointed himself to help me choose. He suggested a salty dog, a mix of vodka and grapefruit juice with a salted rim.
“Always order it in a bucket,” he commanded in his booming voice. Who was I to argue? One did not mess with Tony. His one-handed grip could easily break your hand or disable a shoulder! I drank salty dogs that night and for many years after.
That night I ate beans much to the enjoyment of the winning team. After dinner we drifted back to the bar for a few more rounds. Later I was ushered into a back room where a group of drunken Car Men was sitting around a movie projector watching porno movies on a wobbly screen. These were my father figures?
When it was over the salesmen, most of who were quite drunk, loaded themselves into their Ford LTD Brougham demonstrators and drove home. It was not unusual for at least one demo bite the dust on one of these nights.
I will never forget that night for it seemed to be my formal introduction to adulthood. Never more would I just be the kid who did the dealer trades and washed cars after class. I was now one of them (or at least an apprentice one of them).
I had entered the world of Car Men.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)