Confession: I enjoy car shopping.
But not with my husband.
The man cannot make a decision, but once he does . . . WATCH OUT! There's no stopping him.
We approached the topic of getting rid of the Passport squarely on the same page. We needed something small(ish), but big enough to fit Alexis' car seat. We needed something that got great gas mileage, but that didn't cost a lot of money. We only buy used because new cars are, in our united opinions, a waste of money. With that set of qualifications, it should have been simple.
Of course it wasn't.
I think maybe there weren't enough restrictions on the purchase because Mr. Husband could. not. decide. He sent link after link after link to me, each time for a car that I couldn't believe he was even slightly interested in buying. I think maybe it was all part of an elaborate scheme to see if he could make me tell him what to buy, with plans to later blame me when he wasn't happy.
I'm not that dumb; I didn't fall for it.
After weeks of torturing me, he finally stumbled onto the idea of getting a Toyota Yaris. It fit all of the rules, gets great reviews, and there were several used ones scattered around town. It was the perfect situation for me to do my thing. (Yes, it's a tiny little "starter car," but the man drives 50 miles per day and parks in the slums. He can't drive a vehicle that is worth anything, or even seems like it might be.)
So we drove up to one of the dealerships that had one. Alexis and I waited patiently in the Passport as he did his initial scan of the car. I had already scoped out a few others, so I knew what to expect. I knew that the one he was looking at wasn't the best one in town, but it was acceptable. The thing is, if the man opens the drivers side door of a car on a sales lot, he's buying it. Period. He can't be stopped, no matter what. I can point out overspray in a door that indicates that the car had been wrecked, while the salesman denies it, and he will still buy the car (true story). I can tell him that a car is ten seconds from falling apart, and he will still buy it. I can tell him that there is an identical car across town selling for considerably less, and he will still buy it. It's his thing.
Fortunately, my dear sweet husband is aware of the fact that he sucks at buying cars. He has learned, the hard way, that he should just shut his trap and let me handle things. So, we have a system. He test drives the car, checks out all the mechanical stuff that boys seem to care about so much, and lets me comment on how cute the car is. I might comment on the color. I might say something about the happy face the headlights and grill make. I might make a remark about the pretty glow of the dashboard. I might even ask Alexis if she thinks we look beautiful in the car as I fuss with her curls and make sure her car seat matches the new vehicle's interior.
Oh, yes, I do. I absolutely 100% play up the "clueless female" role. I should get an Academy Award for some of the performances I have put on.
And then BAM! The test drive ends and I engage. My absolute favorite moment every. single. time. is that moment when the salesperson realizes that I control their destiny. If they have treated me poorly and ignored me to that point, they pay a price. As in, unless they meet my ridiculously low offer immediately, we walk.
If they have been even remotely considerate, they still get to meet my offer or we walk, but I'm at least a little nicer about it.
The salesman with the Toyota fell somewhere in the middle of the Chauvinistic Jerk scale, so I made an offer, fully expecting him to counter. As he walked over to talk to his sales manager, I loudly told Mr. Husband all the benefits of the other identical car that was sitting across town. True story, there was a twin and it was a better car. But, that dealership wasn't open and Mr. Husband wanted to buy a car right. that. second.
The salesman tried to make a counter off, I gave him a "You Have to Be Kidding Me" face, and he agreed to our initial offer.
Mr. Husband looked like he was ready to spin gravel into gold and build me a pedestal.
And now? Now I'm free to start trying to find Audrey's replacement. That evil little car is soooo going to be history.
