ContentOne of downsides about moving out to California is the commute. Or more specifically, it is the need for a car. If I had found a place in another neighborhood then I’d be able to take Caltrain from San Francisco to Palo Alto. But as it is, I would have to spend about 35 minutes just getting to and from the train station. That’s on top of the 45 minutes or so on the train. And the 10 minute walk on each end.
While I suppose I could give up three hours a day for the good of the world and the environment, I began to realize that having a car wasn’t that bad an idea. I mean, this is northern California. There are a ton of amazing places one can go on the weekend. And besides, the city is so spread out that people tend to drive when they go out at night to meet friends. While I’ll get a motorcycle for the short city hops, I didn’t want to rely on that for the long commute.
But figuring out what kind of car to get wasn’t easy. I didn’t need a large car. And I wanted something that I’d enjoy spending an hour in each day. And I didn’t want a yuppie car. (I did that once, and while the car itself was actually really nice, I did have a hard time facing myself in the morning.) Yet it had to go fast. Really fast, if possible. I like fast.
So I did some research and found a car that seemed perfect and in my price range. I entered my interest into Edmunds, and within half an hour had a call from each of the four dealers within 15 miles. I made an appointment for a test drive with the first guy who called back.
I went, liked the car I test drove, and told him I’d take it if we could make the numbers work out right. He was perfectly chill so far, nice salesguy, we’re all good. I figure he’d give me a price, I’d agree, write a check or something, and come pick up the car in a day or two.
Oh, but no. No, apparently he decided that it would be more fun to transform into a walking parody of a car salesman. He asked me how much I wanted to pay for the car (I replied, “just a little more than you paid for it.”). He wrote down a number that was 35% more than the MSRP and proceeded to work out monthly payments from that number. He literally said things like “I don’t work on commission,” and “I’ll have to go ask my boss,” and “my boss isn’t going to like it but we’ll see what I can do.” He would take an absurdly long time “talking to his boss” (a common strategy apparently) in spite of the fact that his office had glass windows and I could plainly see him standing around talking to some girl over by the water cooler. He added thousands of dollars of extras to the car even after I explained that I wasn’t interested (which reminds me — did you ever see Fargo?). He quoted me an APR for the financing and then later on as we worked out the paperwork he used a totally different APR. Those sorts of things.
Seriously, it was a joke. But I knew what I was willing to pay, and that there were four other dealers with the same car within a 20 minute drive, so I patiently (over 2 hours) waited him out and got exactly what I wanted. But I can see how someone who was desperate, or shy, or not knowledgeable could really get screwed by salespeople like this.
Anyway, I did end up buying the car. But somehow I felt a little dirty for having done it.
Fortunately, the dirty feeling was left behind as I sped away from the dealership up I-280 and Route 101 at 120 miles per hour exactly the legal speed limit.
Oh, and this is what a major car magazine said about the car: “If you want a car that shouts about you and your status in life, [it] isn’t for you; but if you want a car for speed, then it is.”
They were right on.