Last Fall, Tina and I traded our CX-5 for a CX-30. We were thrilled by its feature set, but a little taken aback that its size was soooo much smaller than the CX-30. We figured with an additional roof cargo box, we would be fine, but the damn car was just too small.
I started looking around for a new car, and landed on a Kia Telluride. Hoooboy, that’s a cool vehicle. And it got a 97 percent approval from Consumer Reports. We test drove a couple and man they are awesome. Problem was that the value of my car was only $25K and a used 2020 we were eyeballing was $42k. I just couldn’t justify forking out that amount of money.
So we stayed looking at Kias, which I swear to Lord God Yeshua Christ that I thought I would NEVER EVER consider. We ended up test driving a Sorento, which is labeled a mini Telluride, and it is… it’s got three rows of seats, but it’s just a tad smaller than the Telluride. Then we drove a Sportage, which had cooled seats, a steering wheel warmer, and a panoramic roof window with sun roof.
Since we already started the process and found that the car ticked off all our boxes even size, we thought, “Let’s trade our CX-30 in for this guy.
Tina, badass that she is, negotiated our trade value up a couple more thousand. But then that painful process of “Wait here while I talk to my manager” started and it was after lunch time. I looked at Tina and I said, “Let’s just go. Let them work out the details. I’m not sitting through this bullshit again.”
So we left. My phone blew up with calls and texts from our salesperson, managers and the cleaning staff. One text read, “Why did you leave?”
I wrote back, “We were hungry. And we’re not sitting there waiting for everything to get ready. I told you we were buying the car. Get your ducks in a row and when you’re ready for us to come pick it up, we will. I’d like curbside pickup, please.”
“I don’t know what that it is,” she wrote.
“It’s where I do everything from afar and you hand me the keys when I get there. It’s the pandemic, I don’t feel comfortable in your facility. I don’t want anything but the car. No upgrades. No paint protection or leather protection. Nothing.”
So they basically got everything together and they sent me a piece of paper with the total cost without the taxes and fees. At the top of the paper, they wrote: “DSRP” which was $900 more than sticker. But I assumed at the time that DSRP meant $900 in extra add ons.
When we paid, they did not tell me they didn’t charge me that extra fee. And after I slept on the purchase, I got infuriated that we paid more. So when we went to pick up an extra key and drop off our title for the trade in, I sat down with a sales manager and asked him what the $900 extra on the sheet was all about. He explained it was for add ons. It wasn’t just air. Nitrogen in the tires that helps them stay inflated better.
“I can give you a list of the things it included,” He said.
“Great. I’d like that.”
He said he’d have our sales person send it over. I never got it.
So when I got a call that I needed to sign yet another piece of paperwork, I got mad at the inconvenience and I told the woman who called that I was pissed off at Bob King. She said she’d relay my message.
In five minutes, I got a call from another manager and he asked me about coming in to sign this paperwork. I said, “Is that why you called?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, I just talked to another woman and we straightened all that out. I also told her that I was pissed at you guys for fucking us with our car sale.”
He assured me that they had not and he could show me the paperwork.
So I flipped out and said, “I’ll see you in five minutes.”
I drove down and he met me at the door. He walked me to the overall manager and I sat down. We immediately got into a heated exchange. When I showed him the paper that had “DSRP” written at the top, he said, “That’s a piece of paper.”
We went back and forth for a while. He had written “smile!” on his facemask and I said, “Are you smiling under there?”
“YES I AM!” He barked.
“Bullshit,” I said.
“Then why did I have a conversation with David and he told me that we had paid extra?”
“I don’t know. But you did NOT pay more. You think because I’m a car dealer I screwed you? Screw you, sir. You’re an idiot. I’m going to sue you. Get out of my office!”
I was floored.
I reached for my phone and I found voice memos and I pressed record. I looked at him and I said, “We need to reset. Let’s reset. Start over. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for patronizing you and for coming into your office and raising hell.”
He calmed down too. And he showed me exactly what the invoice we paid said.
Fuck, man. I lost my shit on someone who was showing me proof. And because I was delusional and arguing from the stand point of complete ignorance, I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
But said and done, I could not argue with the evidence.
And I sit here and I think about all the times that people argue without evidence for some cherished delusion they hold dear. Even when you think you have written evidence. Someone can point you at information that proves you wrong, but you keep arguing from a delusional perspective.
We left best friends. The guy totally was like, “Man, I’ll never think of this issue again. It’s water under the bridge.” We shared stories that we’re both adopted and he got this close to a political conversation, but I said, “Man, I think we’re all bigger than that.”
He agreed. He pointed out the window and he said, “Across the street there’s a school and on days when I’m particularly upset with the world, I walk out and look at those kids playing in the field. I see how diverse they are. Kids from all over and it makes all things better. The media makes us all enemies. But those kids are proof that we can all get along.”
Can’t we all get along?