A transplant from New York City, I've spent the past several years of my life walking to and from my office, nearby restaurants, shops, movie theaters, and my sardine-can apartment. Upon returning to Fort Worth after an eight-year absence, however, I felt acutely the need for a vehicle. After securing a job at the Balcom Agency, I began musing about the type of vehicle I would purchase. Ample research led me to a local luxury car dealership, where I intended to buy a shiny, certified pre-owned car.
One evening, filled with gusto and enthusiasm for my intended purchase, I moseyed to the dealership to take a final look at the car I intended to drive home that evening. Initial proceedings were amiable and reassuring. Our salesman, a recent addition to the team, was exuberant and friendly, verging on self-deprecating and overly apologetic for his position at the bottom of the learning curve. He offered me a no-haggle price, to which I agreed, and proceeded to process my paperwork.
The dealership was crowded that evening, and owing to a previous mishap in the office of the finance manager, I waited over four hours to sign the final papers that would allow me to drive my car off the lot and homeward.
Upon entering the office of the finance manager -- the last step in a long series -- I came to understand why I had been left waiting. Though it was eleven o'clock, my eyes blurry, and my mind foggy, I felt immediately that something was amiss. The finance manager was an unusually quiet, awkward individual. He began asking me questions that I hoped would allow us to finalize my purchase. Soon, however, he was strongly urging me to reconsider my payment terms. "Why don't you pay for the car over the next six years?," he encouraged. I assured him I'd had plenty of time in my four hours of waiting to make a firm purchasing decision. He continued to push. My father, who had tagged along as a source of paternal support, glanced firmly at the employee as he haggled. "We'd like for you to move on, please," he urged. "But sir..." he returned. "Please continue," said my father, his voice growing agitated.
And so we moved on. Next, the finance manager assured me, we were required to review additional warranty options, that would tack on hundreds or thousands of dollars to my purchase. Again, I assured him I had already decided on a warranty. "I don't want it," I told him, my voice beginning to shake. "I'm required to explain it to you," he urged, passive aggression morphing to aggression. After ten minutes of tense monologue, the manager again asked if I wanted his suggested additions. I responded firmly that I didn't. Frustrations then escalated quickly as the manager continued to push and my father admonished him for his inappropriate prodding. "I'd like you to continue," warned my father. "Let me do my job, sir," the manager threatened, like a dog baring his teeth.
We offered to leave the dealership without a car. After a few final attempts, during which my father and I stood and began to exit, the manager left the office to retrieve the final paperwork, finally acknowledging our seriousness. I signed the last page of paperwork as my heart raced and face flushed. We finished the transaction.
Before leaving the dealership, we discovered our friendly salesman in the hallway and explained our unpleasant experience with the finance manager. Perhaps my emotions reached a fever pitch because it was nearing midnight. Perhaps a few tears started welling in my eyes because the excitement of buying a new car had been tainted by a pushy salesman. But, most likely, I cried because I felt scared, mistreated, and deeply disrespected.
Despite profuse apologies from our friendly salesman, tears continued to stream down my face as I hunkered down into the fresh leather of my new car. Several days passed before my disappointment and frustration waned entirely. And you can be sure -- this blog post is testament -- that I will never forget that experience. You can also be sure I told all of my friends. Though I am happy with my car, I will never return to the dealership and will recommend others avoid it too. I'd prefer Jiffy Lube to overlooking the terrible customer experience I received at the luxury car dealership.
The lesson to be learned from my unpleasant experience is to sell with respect. Your customers are human. Most often, they know what they want. If they don't, you can educate them about what is available to them and even recommend a purchase, but always remember that no means no. And to supervisors, be sure to educate your employees about the delicate process of selling. I'm sure our rabid finance manager, who resembled a frightened puppy beneath his bared teeth, had been told selling was his only option. Somewhere along the line, a powerful mistake was made in the training of this employee.
