Six Days in a Ford

After six long days in a rental Ford - driving it is like being crammed into a cold capsule - I was finally assured that my car was repaired.  I paid the rental charges ($400), hitched a ride to the dealership ($600 plus) and foolishly believed that I could trust the repair. I didn't make it home - the car died and refused to start at an intersection not two blocks from my home, stranding me amid a road construction site and in the dark.  As I watched the poor old thing being loaded onto a tow truck and taken away, I realized I had no one but myself to blame - no one had forced me to return to a dealership with a habit of "fixing" things that aren't broken and I should've known that expecting fairness, competence or goodwill was futile.  I hadn't asked them to repair a John Deere or a motorcycle or a Jag, just a simple Chrysler.  I had been patient with their "baffled" mechanics, accepted the fact that the car hadn't even been steadily worked on the first three days in their care.  I even declined to bring up their past service record and accepted the fact that they didn't provide loaner vehicles.  I'd told myself that my emails had been unanswered because the owner of the dealership was out of town or somehow unavailable.  But standing at that one lane intersection, in the dark and hysterically angry, something finally snapped.  


The next morning, the dealership finally agreed to pay for a rental car, the owner assured me everything that could be done was being done, and the manager of the service department gave me a long and complicated list of repairs that the car would need in the future, each more costly than the last.  And still, whatever had killed the engine remained a mystery and while they were willing to keep trying, they didn't have much hope.  They all agreed that the best solution was a new car and as it happened, they had one they thought would be a good fit.  Surprise, surprise. I listened to the sales pitch resignedly and agreed to look at it the next day - by the time I got home, I'd gotten three calls from the sales department - they'd managed to extend the months to make it more affordable, offered to bring the car by at lunch rather than after work so I could test drive it, and finally, the salesman reminded me, he was going out of town the next night and wouldn't it be a shame if someone else were to get this particular car.  A real shame, I said dryly, thinking that like all used car salesmen, he had none and would use any tactic available to close a deal.  


That night instead of sleeping, I reviewed my options:
Buy the car and end the nightmare.
Shop around in an unrepaired car that might strand me at any moment, any time, any place.
Or:
Shop around in an unrepaired car that might strand me at any moment, any time, any place.
Buy the car and end the nightmare.


I could practically feel the jaws of the trap snapping shut.


Here's the thing, I began with the salesman who brought me the car to test drive.  And I calmly explained that while I was resigned to buying a car, I wasn't resigned to buying one from them and that I wasn't able to get past the idea that they owed me - following this was an offer which I turned down, and a second offer, which I also turned down.  This is now a matter of principle, I told him with a touch of sadness, I'm out a thousand dollars which in my mind is on your doorstep and I still don't have a repaired car, so thanks but no thanks.  To my surprise, there was a third offer which made up the thousand dollars and I said yes.


I suspect they still got the better of the deal, dealerships usually do, but the nightmare was over.  I said a quiet goodbye to the Cruiser - No hard feelings, old girl - and anxious for the next adventure, drove home.