Incorrigible Consumerist Whore
May. 25th, 2010 11:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleTraded in my Beetle for a new Element:
My attitude towards new cars is deeply ambivalent. Leaving the Beetle with the dealer was emotionally akin to leaving a dog at the pound, and the loss of the old car greatly overshadowed the pleasures of a new one. But it was wildly inappropriate for mountain life, and even the few trips I made into town were rapidly destroying it. I got $3K for it even though it had a broken headlight, a $500 fix that now I won't have to make. Not a bad deal for a zero-hassle trade in.
Psychologically, this takes the role of my mother's Volvo, which is 23 years old, and looks and runs like it's brand new. It's the best car I've ever seen. This Element, especially it's color, reminds me of it very strongly. The choice to buy an Element predated this feeling, but on seeing it on the lot I was surprised by its draw.
My capital-purchase habits are otherwise rigid and unemotional. I go to several dealers, get a quote, and take the best one - period. The seller gets exactly one chance to make a quote. But trying to get actual numbers out of a car salesman is an hour-long process involving a highly scripted ritual whose form is easier to acquiesce to than resist. In this case, the saleswoman kept asking me "What can I do to sell you this car?" My answer - various forms of "tell me what it will cost" - didn't seem to satisfy her. In the end, the local dealership was $800 over the best price, but they got me $500 more on the trade in and I ate the $300 because I prefer to shop locally and they didn't pull the "Today Only!" bullshit the Santa Rosa guy tried even after I explained I wouldn't be making the decision that day.
She was also very surprised that I declined to take a test drive. Why would I? It's not about handling, it's about squareness. Squareness is everything when you're hauling cargo around. In the end, she more or less made me test drive it, presumably to preempt any post-purchase complaints. I was pleased.
Driving home was wonderful. The VW had such a rigid suspension, this is like riding on a flying carpet in comparison. We have lots of fresh gravel on the road right now, but the tires didn't slip at all. It was eerie, almost like driving on pavement.
In truth, I would much rather drive a rusty old truck. New cars are sterile and devoid of character. Unfortunately I lack the mechanical skills to keep an old truck running, and my business demands absolute reliability. So the purchase of a new car is not so much the traditional marker of success as it as an admission of personal failure, or perhaps just a lack of courage. It also pegs me as a bourgeois bohemian. Guess I can't really escape that niche after all. Yeah, it's nice, but it's a bittersweet sort of nice. I suppose I'll grow into it.
My attitude towards new cars is deeply ambivalent. Leaving the Beetle with the dealer was emotionally akin to leaving a dog at the pound, and the loss of the old car greatly overshadowed the pleasures of a new one. But it was wildly inappropriate for mountain life, and even the few trips I made into town were rapidly destroying it. I got $3K for it even though it had a broken headlight, a $500 fix that now I won't have to make. Not a bad deal for a zero-hassle trade in.
Psychologically, this takes the role of my mother's Volvo, which is 23 years old, and looks and runs like it's brand new. It's the best car I've ever seen. This Element, especially it's color, reminds me of it very strongly. The choice to buy an Element predated this feeling, but on seeing it on the lot I was surprised by its draw.
My capital-purchase habits are otherwise rigid and unemotional. I go to several dealers, get a quote, and take the best one - period. The seller gets exactly one chance to make a quote. But trying to get actual numbers out of a car salesman is an hour-long process involving a highly scripted ritual whose form is easier to acquiesce to than resist. In this case, the saleswoman kept asking me "What can I do to sell you this car?" My answer - various forms of "tell me what it will cost" - didn't seem to satisfy her. In the end, the local dealership was $800 over the best price, but they got me $500 more on the trade in and I ate the $300 because I prefer to shop locally and they didn't pull the "Today Only!" bullshit the Santa Rosa guy tried even after I explained I wouldn't be making the decision that day.
She was also very surprised that I declined to take a test drive. Why would I? It's not about handling, it's about squareness. Squareness is everything when you're hauling cargo around. In the end, she more or less made me test drive it, presumably to preempt any post-purchase complaints. I was pleased.
Driving home was wonderful. The VW had such a rigid suspension, this is like riding on a flying carpet in comparison. We have lots of fresh gravel on the road right now, but the tires didn't slip at all. It was eerie, almost like driving on pavement.
In truth, I would much rather drive a rusty old truck. New cars are sterile and devoid of character. Unfortunately I lack the mechanical skills to keep an old truck running, and my business demands absolute reliability. So the purchase of a new car is not so much the traditional marker of success as it as an admission of personal failure, or perhaps just a lack of courage. It also pegs me as a bourgeois bohemian. Guess I can't really escape that niche after all. Yeah, it's nice, but it's a bittersweet sort of nice. I suppose I'll grow into it.
