Ten Years Ago
Ten years ago, our son was three-just-turning-four, and we needed to replace our ten-year-old car.
My husband was in a bit of a hurry to replace the car, as he was getting ready to leave for two weeks of annual training. He was hoping to pick out the new one before he left. He had this idea that he'd buy it, but not take it home until he got back.
He brought me with him, because I'm a lot more resistant to sales tactics than he is. And we brought our son to reinforce the "just looking" vibe.
The salesman ran through the litany of every high-pressure sales tactic in the book, from "I'll go talk to my manager" (leaving us sitting in a tiny office with an active, bored older toddler) to "Someone else is looking at that gray one, so if you don't sign today, it probably won't be there when you come back." And I could see my husband getting ready to sign on the dotted line.
And then the salesman said they had to have the license plate off the car my husband was planning to drive to annual training. Actually, he said he HAD to have it, and again made the pressuring threat about the new car not being there.
Anyone who knows me would have known this would not work. Being pushed does not make me cave in, it just awakens a veritable Vesuvius of stubborn.
I was already getting ticked off over the hours of trying to keep our son from running wild all over the showroom, and being told what I HAD TO do was that one step too far.
I blew up, told them where they could stick their car, and walked off with the kid. I even started to drive off without my husband, but the kid cried and made me stop.
With all that in mind:
Today someone made a comment on Ravelry about going to a car dealership with their mister. Someone else asked why they took a spray bottle to test-drive cars. And suddenly I had this wonderful idea:
If I had thought to bring a spray bottle when we went to go car shopping, every time the salesman tried another tactic, SQUIRT!
Cats. Car salespeople. Maybe they can be taught!