Accident-prone driver can’t keep hands off the horn
There are a few mystery shops I shy away from; bikini waxing and root canals top the list. Automobile dealers also scare the bejesus out of me. My friends and family would be all too happy to sit you down and tell you tales of why I, a.k.a. the “crash princess,” never should have been granted a driver’s license. My father insists I was a demolition darling from another era in a former life.
Yes, I’ve had the lion’s share of auto accidents. But in my defense, 98.99 percent were not my fault. Call it being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I prefer to call it karma with a kamikaze kick for all things cars and me.
Nonetheless, I accept this assignment because it pays well and I love to drive, despite the invisible target painted on the side of my vehicle.
One new mantra sweeping the r automobile industry recently is “The price you see is the price you pay.” In other words, there’s no need to haggle for a lower price. The dealership already has slashed prices as skillfully as, and less painfully than, a plastic surgeon on Hollywood Boulevard.
That’s the purpose of this particular mystery car shop: to make sure the price on the sticker is the price I would pay. That is, if I were going to actually purchase a vehicle. Last week I shopped for a T-shirt, and I got to keep it when the gig was completed. Too bad I don’t actually get to purchase this item.
Before we arrive at the dealership, I tell my 16-yearold daughter to let me do all the talking. She adds her conditions: “Mother, don’t embarrass me, and don’t use the horn.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear,” I say. Inside, a young woman apoaches me and asks how she can help. I tell her my scenario from the instructions given to me, and we talk about financing and options. It’s nice not to have to haggle over the price (something I’m not very good at). Would I like to pay less? Of course. Who wouldn’t? But haggling seems to be an intimidating call for many people. And from doing my homework, I can see the price is reasonable already.
Then it’s on to the fun part – a test drive. My daughter accompanies us but is naturally disappointed to be told she’s too young to drive.
In order to experience the full spectrum and joy of driving, the saleswoman directs me through city streets, out long highways and up country roads.
“Tell me again when you think your mother will need the car?” the saleswoman asks me, referring to my fictitious story.
That’s when my daughter decides to participate. “Wait, what? Grandma’s moving in with us?”
“Teenagers,” I chuckle. “They never listen.” The saleswoman gives a faint smile and motions to the road that takes us back to the showroom. As I reach the entrance, a small, silver car cuts me off, and out of habit, I lay on the horn. The saleswoman and my daughter both cover their faces and let out big sighs.
“What? I was in the right.”
It turns out that the small silver car’s driver is the owner of the dealership who apparently also owns the road in front of his dealership. His name appears on the street sign.
The saleswoman says she’ll contact me in a few weeks, when my mother gets settled in, and I can bring her over to pick out the color and style she wants. I accept her business card, and we head home. The dealership passes with flying colors: no pressure to buy, and the price is the price. As they promise, you always know what to expect.
If only the same could be said about teenagers.