Death Of A Sales Pitch, Part 2

| Working | March 23, 2014

(I’m in the process of buying a car. I’ve brought my dad with me to help. The sales manager has spent 30 minutes attempting to tack on paint and interior warranty, which I don’t want. I’m a girl in my early 20s.)

Sales Manager: “Okay, so let’s try it this way. Instead of 72 months, how about 63 months? Your payment will only be $10 more than the 60 months with no warranty.”

Me: “Okay, let me run a couple calculations to see how much more this will cost me over the life of the loan.”

Sales Manager: *patronizingly* “If you’re going to multiply $10 by 63, that’s incorrect—”

Me: “Actually, that’s not what I was going to do. And I don’t want the paint and seat warranty. Do you think I’m stupid? I have a cum laude business degree. It’s going to cost me a heck of a lot more over the life of the loan for this warranty, which I don’t even need!”

Sales Manager: *pulls out a binder and plops it in front of me* “Here are all the people who said they didn’t need the warranty but then reconsidered. Take a look at this and how much they saved in repair costs!”

(I glance at the binder long enough to see that the savings were minimal; in fact, one person spent more on warranty than they did on car repairs. I push the binder back to him.)

Sales Manager: “You still don’t want it?”

Me: “Look, I understand that you get commission when you sell this stuff, but I don’t want it. It’s going to cost me more in interest. I want to go with the original 60-month payment. No extended warranty.”

Sales Manager: “I don’t get commission.”

Me: “Really? Because you’re pretty insistent in pushing this on me.”

Sales Manager: *testily* “I believe in the product.”

Me: “I see. I’m still not interested, thanks.”

Sales Manager: *glances at my file* “I see you work for [local bank]. What, exactly, do you do there?”

Me: “I’m a personal banker.”

Sales Manager: *defeated* “Oh… well, that’s interesting.”

(I glance over at my dad, who is trying not to laugh. The sales manager quickly finished up my paperwork. Later, my dad posted a picture with me and my new car on his Facebook account, bragging about how I’d ‘smacked down the sales manager.’)

 

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