Lost Arts studio

A lot of the fiber arts I enjoy are things like tatting, netmaking, chair caning, and even weaving, where people will come up to me when I demonstrate and solemnly tell me, "That's a lost art."

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Location: SW Outer Nowhere, Michigan, United States

On the Internet, nobody knows you're a chicken. (With apologies to Peter Steiner.)

03 June 2013

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!


Blogger Donna Lee said...

I know cats can be taught but am not at all sure about car salesmen.......

8:02 AM  
Blogger fillyjonk said...

When I traded in my old car, they told me "leave the license plate on it," which is SOP here. I said "No freakin' way," because a colleague of mine had done that and later wound up getting dunned for the tag fees on the car he no longer owned.

It took some doing, but finally, after they made me "pinky swear" I'd go get new plates (and pay the $$$$ excise taxes), they let me keep them. (Yes, I did go straight to the tag office to pay the "sales tax" on my car - here, you pay it when you register, not when you buy).

But yeah. I get annoyed at the tactics some salespeople use.

8:38 AM  
Blogger kbsalazar said...

In '93(!) I went car shopping because my new job was not bus-accessible and the husband needed our one car to get to his work. I went alone. Heck. It was my car, and my choice. Salesmen ignored me or flat out told me "You'll bring your husband when you get serious." They also asked "What color?" as the first question when they did engage, when I wanted to talk about techstuff and frequency of repair. Ended up buying a car from the first guy who treated me like a real customer. Sincerely hope the troglodytes have aged out of active sales, since.

10:02 AM  
Blogger Catherine Roberts said...

Pure Gold,lol

6:35 AM  

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