Car-buying saga, part 2
Jan. 16th, 2005 10:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jazzfishOur last episode ended with the three of us [Mom, Dad, me] piling into Dad's Lincoln after dinner to go check out a Saturn coupe in Gaithersburg.
Over the past several years I seem to have learned how to relate to my parents [and, to a lesser and less relevant extent, my sister] as People, rather than Adversaries. They're still not high on my list of favorite people but "polite conversation" about trivialities can be had. Thus, on the way up we talked about various car-related things a lot, like Dad's bad luck with windshields. The pickup truck he used to drive had two or three chips in the windshield due to highway gravel, and the Lincoln is on its third windshield for similar reasons. It got a chip shortly after he bought it, so he called the glass people to come and fix it. They did, but the fix didn't take and the crack spread, so he had a new windshield installed. Then awhile later he noticed that the white lines on the road looked wavy when viewed through the edges of the windshield. Turns out they'd put in the wrong windshield, so he went and raised heck with them and got the right one installed. Fun.
We pulled up to the Saturn dealership [which, despite being owned by an automall, appears to be its own separate thing] and found Don Watson, the guy I spoke to on the phone. (Car salesmen are rather territorial types. You talk to one on the phone and he wants to make absolutely sure that you come find him when you come in to see the cars. Yay commission-based pay.) Don seemed like a decent guy, like he was there to help me find the right car. Definitely a better vibe than I got from Glen Burnie.
Two words about the car itself: it's silver, which is low on my desirability list but still ranks. It's got 50,000 miles on it. For a 2002 car this is an awful lot. According to Carfax, it was registered in Georgia in late 2002 with the New York DMV, and lived in Georgia until it moved to College Park in August '04 and was sold a couple of months later. So, probably military-owned; possibly a lot of travel back and forth to see family. [Carfax is not all that smart, though; it thnks Glyndwr has only had one owner, for instance. I can count three definitely, and probably a fourth as well.] I'm not really expecting great things from this car but I feel obligated to check it out.
So, after walking around it several times looking it over [no big scratches, a couple small marks on the rear bumper, new tires on the back but worn on the front, looks rather nice all told] I climbed in for a test drive. About the first thing I noticed was the odometer: 031320. "Hey," I said, "it's only got about 30,000 miles." "Yeah, someone must have entered it wrong into the computer." Excitement and happiness start to burble up. Also, CD player and tape deck. And working sunroof, and maplights, and keyless entry, and power windows/mirrors, and the beyond-cool third door [yeah, it's a gimmick, but it's such a cool gimmick!] . . . much yay.
The test drive went smoothly for the most part, but as I headed towards the dealership I noticed a disconcerting grumbling sound from the brakes. Hm. Yep, it's definitely there. Neither Don nor my mother [who came along for the ride] can hear it, though . . . and it's not really so much 'hear' as it is 'feel.' Hm. Regardless; I like this car. A lot. It's just a bit pricier than I was really looking for, even with a loan, even with pulling money out of a mutual fund for the down payment. I'd rather not pull any more money out of that than I have to.
Don and I came back inside and sat down with Dad, and Mom went to the restroom. Don said "Now, the price on this car is $9,450, plus Virginia tax and title--" I cut him off. "Look, I like the car, but I'm needing to cut down expenses here."
Pause. "Well, what price do you think would be reasonable?"
Pause. Nerves jangle. I'd still expected to be flayed alive for suggesting that he lower the price. "I was thinking $8500, plus fees."
Pause. Dad concentrates really hard on the flyer he's picked up. Don: "So, your offer is $8500. I'll have to ask my manager about that. But, if I can get you the eighty-five, do we have a deal?"
"Yeah. Definitely."
He left, Mom came back. Tension ran high. We waited. After several eternities [or probably about five minutes] he returned. "We're prepared to sell you the car for $9,050. Is that a deal?"
Can't look at Dad can't look at Dad can't look at Dad "It's a deal."
Handshake, and it's done. Whew.
Except for the paperwork, and for that we're shuffled off to a business office. (After trying to get USAA to fax insurance information and discovering that the dealership's fax machine refuses to talk to USAA's. Bah. Had to bring it in the next day.) We spent the next forty-five minutes or so talking with Joe McDonald, whose accent is Noo Yawk and sense of humor is vaguely Brit. I got on well with Joe. We signed various pieces of paper and agreed to come back the next day (Tuesday) at eleven to pick up the car: they'd try and buff out some of the scratches.
"And maybe take a look at the brakes, too," I added.
Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. Eventually Dad agreed to take it for a drive, see if he noticed anything. And he did, so Joe put "brakes?" on the work order. And we all went home, an hour after the dealership supposedly closed.
The next day Mom and I drove up to Gaithersburg to pick up the car. (At this point I was still entertaining fantasies of getting back to B-burg in time to go to work at 3:30.) The woman in the service center couldn't find the car in their computer system, but before she got that straightened out we were accosted by Hillary [didn't catch a last name], who explained what was going on. The problem, she said, wasn't the brakes: it was the tires. The front wheels were out of alignment and had caused the tires to wear unevenly, producing a grinding noise most noticeable when braking. "We got this car from the dealership in Silver Spring, and you'd think they would have checked the alignment, but evidently not." So, another hour to get the alignment done and new tires put on the front, and then we're good to go!
McLunch with Mom, and then a trip to a thrift store (she found a small deep square glass casserole dish that matches the other ones she has), and back at the dealership at noon. The car still isn't in the system, but we had enough time before Hillary swept us away again for the woman at the desk to explain that newly-purchased cars don't go into the system in the same way, and that's where she'd been looking when we said "Here to pick up an '02 SC2."
Anyway. Hillary said that despite inventory records showing six S-series tires in stock they couldn't find any, so they'd had to send out to another dealership to get them, and they're just now done putting them on. "Another half hour, tops." Mom went back to work and I sat down to wait, and called work to tell them I'd be late. Everything finished up by one and I was on the road.
Well, mostly. I called Dad to let him know what was going on, and he pointed out that I'd probably better get a Virginia inspection done so I didn't get a ticket. So instead of getting off the Beltway at 66W, I kept going south, to the mechanic he takes his cars to. And, right as some idiot cuts me off, I see a black speck -- gravel -- zoom towards the windshield and ricochet off with a loud THSZUNK, leaving a tiny chip about two inches below my default sight point.
First time I've ever had windshield trouble, and it would be in the nice new car. As my mother would say, "You must be kin to your Dad or something."
While waiting in line for inspection I called Dad and let him know, and he pointed out that USAA covers windshield damage. Which would have never occurred to me. So I called them up and made an appointment for Thursday morning, and got the car inspected and headed out.
Verdict: good in traffic, great on the highway, acceptable in rain (didn't really push it much; I hate driving in the rain at night). The lumbar seat adjustment is a godsend. A mind-boggling (to me, anyway) thirty-five miles to the gallon. And it looks really cool when they fix your windshield: they pour goop on it and put a plastic liner to hold it down, and then use a blowtorch from the other side of the glass.
And now I have a car, and life is good. And soon I will only have /one/ car, once the DMV is open when I try to go there. And pictures to come later, including that way cool tricked-out third door.
Over the past several years I seem to have learned how to relate to my parents [and, to a lesser and less relevant extent, my sister] as People, rather than Adversaries. They're still not high on my list of favorite people but "polite conversation" about trivialities can be had. Thus, on the way up we talked about various car-related things a lot, like Dad's bad luck with windshields. The pickup truck he used to drive had two or three chips in the windshield due to highway gravel, and the Lincoln is on its third windshield for similar reasons. It got a chip shortly after he bought it, so he called the glass people to come and fix it. They did, but the fix didn't take and the crack spread, so he had a new windshield installed. Then awhile later he noticed that the white lines on the road looked wavy when viewed through the edges of the windshield. Turns out they'd put in the wrong windshield, so he went and raised heck with them and got the right one installed. Fun.
We pulled up to the Saturn dealership [which, despite being owned by an automall, appears to be its own separate thing] and found Don Watson, the guy I spoke to on the phone. (Car salesmen are rather territorial types. You talk to one on the phone and he wants to make absolutely sure that you come find him when you come in to see the cars. Yay commission-based pay.) Don seemed like a decent guy, like he was there to help me find the right car. Definitely a better vibe than I got from Glen Burnie.
Two words about the car itself: it's silver, which is low on my desirability list but still ranks. It's got 50,000 miles on it. For a 2002 car this is an awful lot. According to Carfax, it was registered in Georgia in late 2002 with the New York DMV, and lived in Georgia until it moved to College Park in August '04 and was sold a couple of months later. So, probably military-owned; possibly a lot of travel back and forth to see family. [Carfax is not all that smart, though; it thnks Glyndwr has only had one owner, for instance. I can count three definitely, and probably a fourth as well.] I'm not really expecting great things from this car but I feel obligated to check it out.
So, after walking around it several times looking it over [no big scratches, a couple small marks on the rear bumper, new tires on the back but worn on the front, looks rather nice all told] I climbed in for a test drive. About the first thing I noticed was the odometer: 031320. "Hey," I said, "it's only got about 30,000 miles." "Yeah, someone must have entered it wrong into the computer." Excitement and happiness start to burble up. Also, CD player and tape deck. And working sunroof, and maplights, and keyless entry, and power windows/mirrors, and the beyond-cool third door [yeah, it's a gimmick, but it's such a cool gimmick!] . . . much yay.
The test drive went smoothly for the most part, but as I headed towards the dealership I noticed a disconcerting grumbling sound from the brakes. Hm. Yep, it's definitely there. Neither Don nor my mother [who came along for the ride] can hear it, though . . . and it's not really so much 'hear' as it is 'feel.' Hm. Regardless; I like this car. A lot. It's just a bit pricier than I was really looking for, even with a loan, even with pulling money out of a mutual fund for the down payment. I'd rather not pull any more money out of that than I have to.
Don and I came back inside and sat down with Dad, and Mom went to the restroom. Don said "Now, the price on this car is $9,450, plus Virginia tax and title--" I cut him off. "Look, I like the car, but I'm needing to cut down expenses here."
Pause. "Well, what price do you think would be reasonable?"
Pause. Nerves jangle. I'd still expected to be flayed alive for suggesting that he lower the price. "I was thinking $8500, plus fees."
Pause. Dad concentrates really hard on the flyer he's picked up. Don: "So, your offer is $8500. I'll have to ask my manager about that. But, if I can get you the eighty-five, do we have a deal?"
"Yeah. Definitely."
He left, Mom came back. Tension ran high. We waited. After several eternities [or probably about five minutes] he returned. "We're prepared to sell you the car for $9,050. Is that a deal?"
Can't look at Dad can't look at Dad can't look at Dad "It's a deal."
Handshake, and it's done. Whew.
Except for the paperwork, and for that we're shuffled off to a business office. (After trying to get USAA to fax insurance information and discovering that the dealership's fax machine refuses to talk to USAA's. Bah. Had to bring it in the next day.) We spent the next forty-five minutes or so talking with Joe McDonald, whose accent is Noo Yawk and sense of humor is vaguely Brit. I got on well with Joe. We signed various pieces of paper and agreed to come back the next day (Tuesday) at eleven to pick up the car: they'd try and buff out some of the scratches.
"And maybe take a look at the brakes, too," I added.
Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. Eventually Dad agreed to take it for a drive, see if he noticed anything. And he did, so Joe put "brakes?" on the work order. And we all went home, an hour after the dealership supposedly closed.
The next day Mom and I drove up to Gaithersburg to pick up the car. (At this point I was still entertaining fantasies of getting back to B-burg in time to go to work at 3:30.) The woman in the service center couldn't find the car in their computer system, but before she got that straightened out we were accosted by Hillary [didn't catch a last name], who explained what was going on. The problem, she said, wasn't the brakes: it was the tires. The front wheels were out of alignment and had caused the tires to wear unevenly, producing a grinding noise most noticeable when braking. "We got this car from the dealership in Silver Spring, and you'd think they would have checked the alignment, but evidently not." So, another hour to get the alignment done and new tires put on the front, and then we're good to go!
McLunch with Mom, and then a trip to a thrift store (she found a small deep square glass casserole dish that matches the other ones she has), and back at the dealership at noon. The car still isn't in the system, but we had enough time before Hillary swept us away again for the woman at the desk to explain that newly-purchased cars don't go into the system in the same way, and that's where she'd been looking when we said "Here to pick up an '02 SC2."
Anyway. Hillary said that despite inventory records showing six S-series tires in stock they couldn't find any, so they'd had to send out to another dealership to get them, and they're just now done putting them on. "Another half hour, tops." Mom went back to work and I sat down to wait, and called work to tell them I'd be late. Everything finished up by one and I was on the road.
Well, mostly. I called Dad to let him know what was going on, and he pointed out that I'd probably better get a Virginia inspection done so I didn't get a ticket. So instead of getting off the Beltway at 66W, I kept going south, to the mechanic he takes his cars to. And, right as some idiot cuts me off, I see a black speck -- gravel -- zoom towards the windshield and ricochet off with a loud THSZUNK, leaving a tiny chip about two inches below my default sight point.
First time I've ever had windshield trouble, and it would be in the nice new car. As my mother would say, "You must be kin to your Dad or something."
While waiting in line for inspection I called Dad and let him know, and he pointed out that USAA covers windshield damage. Which would have never occurred to me. So I called them up and made an appointment for Thursday morning, and got the car inspected and headed out.
Verdict: good in traffic, great on the highway, acceptable in rain (didn't really push it much; I hate driving in the rain at night). The lumbar seat adjustment is a godsend. A mind-boggling (to me, anyway) thirty-five miles to the gallon. And it looks really cool when they fix your windshield: they pour goop on it and put a plastic liner to hold it down, and then use a blowtorch from the other side of the glass.
And now I have a car, and life is good. And soon I will only have /one/ car, once the DMV is open when I try to go there. And pictures to come later, including that way cool tricked-out third door.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-17 04:05 am (UTC)Why do you say the third door is a gimmick? I still don't see how it's better than having four doors, but it's better than two.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-19 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-19 06:54 am (UTC)The only reason I can think of for backwards doorness is that it fits in less space. With two doors that open the same direction, you have to have something between them to connect the hinges on the back door to.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-17 12:45 pm (UTC)