The Car Buying Story

We are all works-in-progress. Our attitudes shift with time.

When I was a boy, my mom (and others) kept telling me that girls were just as good as boys, and that there wasn’t really any difference between them.

“Well, then how do you know who’s a boy and who’s a girl?” I recall asking once. I must have been five or six at the time — I remember the house we were living in when I asked the question, which is how I come to this conclusion. Questions like this got very technical answers. My mom must have said something like, “Well, boys have a penis and girls have a vagina.”

“That’s it? That’s all? What else? How else can you tell?”

It all seemed too simple to me. If that was the only difference… but that didn’t make sense. I mean, I was a boy! It was who I was! And she was telling me that all that meant was I could stand while I peed, while my sister had to sit? That was the only difference?

But yes. I grew up being told that girls were just as good as boys, blah, blah, blah.

Then, in high school, I was surrounded by girls who were at least as smart as I, if not more so, and one in particular who challenged me like no other. She was intellectually intimidating; my biggest rival for academic glory at my high school and also my first (alas, unrequited) love. Anything I could do, she could do better.

Then I went to a hoity toity University in the Northeast, where the winters were cold and the women were colder. Smart and capable, to be sure. But they’d stare you down if you dared to hold a door open for them (never mind the fact that, until the girls at University taught me otherwise, I used to hold the door for anybody). I did date a few of these women. In one case, I was simply a horribly inexperienced and inept lover, and she moved on quickly to find someone better. One said sex was silly (which, of course, it is, when you think about it), but she seemed to like it anyway. Another eventually became my wife, although we didn’t start dating until about five years after graduation — and if you read anything else in this blog, you know how well that worked out. [If you haven’t: let’s just say that she has had a fourteen-year headache and we are getting a divorce.]

One and only one of these liberated wimmen seemed to like being a girl. Seemed to appreciate that there are differences, and that they are to be cherished, not denied. In fact, she is the one who taught me the value of the word “cherish.” She made me clothing. No kidding. She liked sex. She liked me. We were doomed. And that’s too bad.

Throughout my life, most of my best friends were women. I was trustworthy and “safe” — ie, I was not the sort to press my proverbial advantage, and I was also ignorant in the ways of recognizing when a woman was interested in me — so, for the most part, they trusted me and didn’t date me.

[Yes, NYSoonerGirl, for the sake of my future happiness, I’m paying attention. I’m learning!]

I tell you all this to set the stage for a big revelation. I got out of University thinking that, for the most part, women were just like men except they were easier on the eyes and probably didn’t like sex as much as men.

So you can imagine my surprise when The Car Shopping incident occurred. I was living in the Boston area. One of my downstairs neighbors was a tough, smart woman who was embarking upon creating a business of her own.

“Itneverrainsinboston,” she said, “would you like to go car shopping with me?”

I had, only the year before, bought my first brand new car (a Saturn SL2), but this wasn’t why she wanted me to come with her.

“I don’t like shopping for cars at all. The sales people treat me like I’m invisible.”

Really? I couldn’t believe it. Why would anyone in their right minds disregard someone who wanted to spend thousands of dollars at their dealership?

“It’s because I’m a woman.”

No. Way. I totally didn’t believe this. But, that said, I enjoy negotiating, and thought maybe I could bring something to the table on my friend’s behalf, even though I was convinced she was exaggerating any gender-bias at the car dealerships.

I know, I know. You’re way ahead of me.

At every single dealership we went to — and we went to four or five, if I recall correctly — every single sales person we spoke with came up to me to introduced themselves.

“Hi,” I’d say, “I’m itneverrainsinboston, and this is my friend, rainyfriend. She is buying a car today.” And I’d gesture at my housemate.

I used those words each time. “She is buying a car today.” They’d shake her hand, and then they’d address me. “And what color are you looking for?”

I’d remind them, “Well, she’s buying the car.” And then my friend would tell them what she was looking for.

She had done some research already; she knew the models she wanted to test drive. She new the features she considered must-haves.

The Toyota dealer was the only one who violated the pattern. The guy there held up his hand and said they didn’t have any of that model on the lot, but would be getting more (of next year’s model) within a few weeks. He was a jerk about it; very condescending, but he spoke directly to my friend. We left without pursuing it any further.

At the other dealerships — all of them, including Saturn (which was a new brand at the time, trying to make a name for themselves as a “different kind of car company”), simply ignored my friend completely and spoke to me. No matter how many times I directed their attention to my friend. No matter how often she asked direct questions. The sales people would answer her questions, but they looked at me when they did so.

Really, people? REALLY?

And their questions (the car salespeople) were inane. Typically, the first question (or the second) would be, “What color are you looking for?”

Really? Not, what size vehicle? Not, how many people do you need to seat? Not, what style vehicle? No. Color. Every time.

The only thing worse than the fact that they kept asking about color, was that, well, the looks of the car really were my friend’s primary concern. Not features. Not the power of the engine. Not maintenance and reliability. Not safety. Not total cost of ownership. Looks.

The Saturn (SL1) had all of the features she said she wanted. But it looked like a catfish to her, so no dice.

The Honda (Civic, I think) handled to her liking and had a peppy engine. But it looked kind of dated.

The Toyota we already talked about, and one of the Dodge dealers also caused her to get up mid-discussion when they insisted on talking money before she’d even been allowed to test drive a car.

The second Dodge dealership, though, let her test drive a Neon. The Neon was a new model at the time. It was roomier than the Saturn, but otherwise was a cheap piece of crap. Everything about it screamed “CHEAP!”

But it was cute.

I swear to all that is sacred, my friend simply gushed over how friendly and cute it looked. She could put little magnets to hold up decorative “eyelashes” over the headlights, and la di da di da. It came in a lovely shade of metallic blue, and isn’t it just so friendly looking? [This was the same kind of drivel I heard repeated from many quarters when Volkswagen came out with their re-designed Beetle. Oh… whatever, people.]

“You know, rainyfriend, my Saturn has been very reliable, and the one we looked at has all the features you wanted…”

“No. This is it. This one.”

So she bought the Neon.

It was a piece of crap from Day One. She was always having to take it to the shop. She was always annoyed that it didn’t have this feature or that feature that she had previously said she really wanted. And to top it all off, after we negotiated the deal (and we did a fine job negotiating, if I don’t say so, myself), the sales douche actually had the balls to say that he was losing money on the deal, but it was the end of the month and this way he made his quota and this car could finally find a good home.

Oh, shut the hell up, sales douche. You already sold the car, and you’re not just a liar, you’re an idiot if you think we believe that you’d sell a car at a loss. Come. On.

So, why do I bring all this up?

• It was my first (and very real) taste of just how differently society treats men and women, and that difference is decidedly unfair and inappropriate…
• And yet, that difference wasn’t entirely unfounded. Unfair, yes, but not entirely unfounded. My smart, business-savvy friend turned into exactly the kind of bozo they anticipated her to be.
• There’s a difference between compromise and settling. Compromise is necessary (and not necessarily a bad thing) in all aspects of life. Settling is not. [More on this in a previous and a future post]
• What we think we want or need and what we actually want or need are not always the same thing.

My friend made two crucial mistakes. The first is that looks completely overrode all other considerations on her “wish list.” When she wrote out what she wanted on paper, she described the Saturn. But when it came time to buy, it was all about how the car looked.

The second mistake was not waiting to check out the new Toyotas… or even going to another dealership that probably had the model she was interested in. Instead of rushing into the first car that looked good, she should have waited. I suspect that the Toyota would have struck the balance she desired between features and looks. It might not have been as cute as the neon, and it might not have had the perfect match to her list of desires like the Saturn had, but it almost certainly would have presented a compromise that she could live with for the long haul.

I’ve been meaning for some time to comment on the differences (and the samenesses) between (among) men and women. This post lays down some of the background for that. But there’s also the issue of compromise versus settling…

…and, if you think all this car buying brou-haha is a metaphor for how we sometimes behave in our romantic lives, you’d be right.