Car Salesman Confidential: Pushing A Salesman Too Far

Every man has his limit.

Those of you who have been reading my column since the beginning may have gotten the impression I’m some kind of “super salesman,” always nice and polite, a true professional with lots of product knowledge who never pressures anyone and is loved by all.

Ha!

Oh, I wish that were true. The truth is I’m no angel. In fact, in some circles, I have a reputation for being kind of a hothead. That’s a bit of an exaggeration. In more than 10 years of selling cars I’ve only lost my cool maybe four or five times. It takes a lot to make me lose control. But when I lose it … I really lose it. And a few of my little episodes have become somewhat legendary.

Take the time Mr. Campbell and his wife came in one Saturday afternoon in August, looking for a first car for their daughter Amber, who was turning 16 that fall.  After looking at a number of used cars, the Campbells finally decided on a brand new Bel Canto coupe. But we didn’t have the color she wanted — Kiwi Kreme Metallic — and we couldn’t locate one at another dealership, so we decided to order a car for them. Mr. Campbell was a tough negotiator and kept us there long after hours, trying to agree on price — which ended up well below invoice. A “mini deal” for me. After signing the buyer’s order, Mr. Campbell asked me a question.

“Something just occurred to me,” he said. “We won’t be getting this car for another three months.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Well — and don’t take this personally — but what’s to keep you guys from jacking up the price on me once we come back to pick up this car? You know, what’s to stop you from trying to renegotiate the deal?”

“Well,” I replied.  “That document you just signed has the price and my sales manager’s signature on it. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

He looked at his wife. “No … not really.”

I didn’t know what to do at this point. I was exhausted and ready to go home. So I said: “Well, what if I gave you my word?”

He laughed nervously. “Well, again, don’t take this personally, but you are a car salesman, you know.”

I was deeply insulted by this statement. He had basically just called me a crook.  But I tried to put aside my personal feelings.

“OK, what if I gave you my word in writing?”

He thought about it a moment. “That would probably work.”

So I flipped the buyer’s order over and wrote on the back: “I, Mark McDonald, personally guarantee that the price on the other side of this document will not be changed or altered in any way when the Campbells’ vehicle arrives.” And then I signed it. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell seemed pleased. We took a deposit, they shook my hand on the way out, and I promised to call them the minute the car came in.

Cut to three months later. The car finally arrives. I call Mr. Campbell. He’s ecstatic and says he and his wife will be there the following Saturday with their daughter to pick it up. She doesn’t know they’re buying her a new car, and this is supposed to be a big secret. I’ve already put a specially made plaque on the dash (that I paid for out of my own pocket) that reads, “THIS CAR SPECIALLY MADE BY ZORCH FOR AMBER CAMPBELL,” and I’m planning on putting a big bow on the car before they arrive.  Everything is working out as planned.

Then Mr. Campbell calls me again Friday night. “Look, Mark, uh, some things have come up … ”

Immediately I get a sinking feeling, thinking, “Here we go. He’s backing out.”

Mr. Campbell continued:  “My father-in-law up in South Carolina found out he has cancer and he’s been in the hospital the past few weeks, and my wife and I have been driving up there to see him, and … ”

While he’s talking, I’m trying to figure out where this is going.

“And with all the travel and staying in hotels it’s gotten kind of expensive, you know, and … well, I was wondering … do you think we could do anything about that price?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Like maybe take off another $500?”

So this where he’s going, I thought. This SOB is trying to renegotiate the price!  I could feel my temperature starting to rise.

“No, that wouldn’t be possible, Mr. Campbell.”

“Why not? All I’m asking for is $500.”

“Can I remind you of something?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

And then I launched into a speech, a little speech that would go down in history as one of the greatest wig-outs of all time, at least at that particular dealership. It started out slowly, calmly, rationally, then slowly escalated into me going completely ballistic.

“Mr. Campbell, do you remember that day back in August when you and your wife came in and took up most of a Saturday afternoon trying to find a car for your daughter? And then, once we’d settled on a car we spent another hour or so after closing haggling over a price? Do you remember that?”

“Oh yeah, I remember that.”

The words started coming more quickly now, picking up steam. “Well then, do you remember how, right after we agreed on price — a price that was well below invoice on a vehicle we had to order — you told me you didn’t trust us to stick to it, so I gave you my personal guarantee that the price wouldn’t change — in writing?”

“Oh yes, my wife and I really appreciated that …”

“Well, Mr. Campbell, it appears to me that you’re trying to do exactly what you accused us of planning to do. You’re trying to renegotiate the price.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all …”

I cut him off. “Mr. Campbell, there are two things in this world I value more than anything else, after my family. The first is my reputation; the second is my integrity.  You’ve questioned both. Now, I’ve kept my word to you. I didn’t try to ‘jack you up’ on price. But you’re not keeping your word to me. You’re trying to get us to change the price we both agreed on three months ago.”

As I kept talking, I kept getting angrier and angrier, and my voice kept getting louder and louder. Mr. Campbell was getting angry, too, and started raising his voice.  Pretty soon we were both yelling at each other at the top of our lungs. It was like Italian opera, only without musical accompaniment. I don’t remember what either of us said.  All I know is that when we reached the crescendo, I bellowed out something along the lines of:

“. . . No, you cannot have another five hundred off, and FORGET YOUUUUUU!!!!!”

And then I slammed down the phone so hard I thought I had broken it. Silence. I sat there in my office, staring at the wall, contemplating what I had just done. Then I wandered out into the hallway. There were no customers nearby. Maybe no one had heard me. I stepped into the office of the salesman across the way from me. He was sitting behind his desk, sort of trembling, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were big.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“Are you OK?” he asked. I guess he had heard me screaming.

I figured I had just ended my career at this dealership. The customer would probably call back at any second, ask to speak to the general manager, and tell him I had just told him to eff off. So I decided to “be a man,” go straight to the boss, and tell him myself. Maybe even resign. I walked into his office.

“Umm … I just got off the phone with a customer, and, um … I don’t know if you heard or not, but …”

“Oh, yeah, we heard,” he interjected.  “Everybody in the dealership heard it.”

My heart sank. “Oh. Well, in that case …”

Suddenly, I was saved by the receptionist paging me:  “Mark McDonald you have a call on line one. Mark McDonald, line one.”

I jumped up and ran to the phone.  When I got to my office I snatched it up annnd . . . it was Mr. Campbell. His tone was apologetic.

“So, that’s really it, huh? That’s your final price?”

“Yes!!”

He sighed. “OK, we’ll be there Saturday around noon to pick it up.” And then he hung up.

I sat down. I couldn’t believe it. All that, and all he wanted was another $500 off!  He was just testing me. After that incident, I vowed to never again lose my temper with a customer. And I’m proud to say I’ve been successful.

Until the time that …

TO BE CONTINUED!

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