We recently bought a used car from Auction Direct and while much of what I found entertaining about it might stem from the fact that we were there for three hours, I'm going to write about it anyway. First, I must say that it really was a painless process. While they weren't entirely accurate in their assessment of ALL other dealerships (we very much like Steve Miller at Van Bortel in Fairport, lack of relations to rock bands notwithstanding), they were very easy to deal with. We drove four cars (one twice), and they brought a car in from Buffalo for us. Once it was determined which car we wanted (a 2009 Hyundai Sonata), we sat for quite a long time as they moved us through the process. It was an interesting place to sit – the music is a bit loud and the acoustics are a bit echoey – but you couldn't beat the people-watching.
The place where you sit as they go through things is a huge circular bar, essentially – complete with high chairs. The 'boys' sat in the middle on both sides of a string of desks placed end to end. And they talked. Loudly. With hand gestures. Everyone called everyone else 'brother' and, at the risk of sounding racist, I sometimes got the impression that we were watching the legal front of the Victor Mafia. Now, before anyone grows angry with me, let me point out a couple of things. First, there were many Italian jokes made by the very people about whom I'm blogging. Jokes like "You're Italian? I could have sworn you were Irish" and the like. The following is my best approximation of an actual story told by the guy who called the banks:
You gotta fit in the car. Now, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm I-talian. We're not very tall, see. My mother wanted to buy an Escalade, and I said to her "Ma……you're four foot eleven……ya can't even get in the thing….why d'you wanna do that? But she knew what she wanted…
I suppose I could put more phonetic spellings in there – but just imagine it being told by a fellow who was very Italian and very proud of it. You can hear it, see the hand gestures, enjoy the story. This particular gentlemen also had a tendency to ask you a question, wait approximately three seconds, and then launch into his own answer or story or interpretation of what he thought you would say. It was very entertaining. He kept telling us that this is what he was gonna do. It was a great deal of fun.
There was one fellow in the middle of the bull pit that seemed important. He was older than the other guys working there and he's the one they all went to when something wasn't going smoothly. Now, I may have been imagining it, but it seemed like all others would give him a slightly wider berth when they walked past him. He was well-dressed and had smile lines, but I'm not sure I believe that he was jovial. He was staunch in his stance – stood by whatever he had to say and when someone offered an alternative, he often just responded by repeating what he had said before his prey had spoken. I didn't seem him interacting with customers, but I imagine he would wear them down, too. At one point he addressed the whole group of them and said, "Boys, ya got anything ya need me to do?" They all stopped and looked, shook their heads, and went back to the banter and the ribbing.
To further point out why he exuded Bossman status, there was a discrepancy between the window sticker on the car we wanted and the website price and our salesman had to take it to the Bossman. After some low conversations, a phone call, and some tense moments on the part of our salesman (I'm pretty sure he knew we would walk out if the number didn't come back to the lower one), the Bossman turned to half face us. To our salesman, he said this: "If they buy it t'day….they can have the lower price. But if they don't…price is going up." Again, put the pauses and the vocal affectations in there and you've got it.
Our salesman looked relieved. Coming over to us, he said "Someone saved you $1000 today." I got the impression that someone might be out of a job soon.
I named some of them – there was Bossman, of course. And Pretty Boy. And the Numbers Guy who told me I only had a few more years left until all my schooling took me out. Because of what happened to his ex-wife's cousin's husband. This same fellow asked me if I were Arabic because my signature didn't look English.
I think we were ALL getting a little punchy – at one point I actually called the salesman a dork and he agreed that he was one. The fellow with the short mom told us that Numbers Guy was the worst part of the experience and I said, "You mean, he's worse than you?" His response was that I should work there. I'd fit right in.
In the end, it is not a place where I want hang out for three hours again, but it was entertaining. And now I want a cannoli.
The place where you sit as they go through things is a huge circular bar, essentially – complete with high chairs. The 'boys' sat in the middle on both sides of a string of desks placed end to end. And they talked. Loudly. With hand gestures. Everyone called everyone else 'brother' and, at the risk of sounding racist, I sometimes got the impression that we were watching the legal front of the Victor Mafia. Now, before anyone grows angry with me, let me point out a couple of things. First, there were many Italian jokes made by the very people about whom I'm blogging. Jokes like "You're Italian? I could have sworn you were Irish" and the like. The following is my best approximation of an actual story told by the guy who called the banks:
You gotta fit in the car. Now, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm I-talian. We're not very tall, see. My mother wanted to buy an Escalade, and I said to her "Ma……you're four foot eleven……ya can't even get in the thing….why d'you wanna do that? But she knew what she wanted…
I suppose I could put more phonetic spellings in there – but just imagine it being told by a fellow who was very Italian and very proud of it. You can hear it, see the hand gestures, enjoy the story. This particular gentlemen also had a tendency to ask you a question, wait approximately three seconds, and then launch into his own answer or story or interpretation of what he thought you would say. It was very entertaining. He kept telling us that this is what he was gonna do. It was a great deal of fun.
There was one fellow in the middle of the bull pit that seemed important. He was older than the other guys working there and he's the one they all went to when something wasn't going smoothly. Now, I may have been imagining it, but it seemed like all others would give him a slightly wider berth when they walked past him. He was well-dressed and had smile lines, but I'm not sure I believe that he was jovial. He was staunch in his stance – stood by whatever he had to say and when someone offered an alternative, he often just responded by repeating what he had said before his prey had spoken. I didn't seem him interacting with customers, but I imagine he would wear them down, too. At one point he addressed the whole group of them and said, "Boys, ya got anything ya need me to do?" They all stopped and looked, shook their heads, and went back to the banter and the ribbing.
To further point out why he exuded Bossman status, there was a discrepancy between the window sticker on the car we wanted and the website price and our salesman had to take it to the Bossman. After some low conversations, a phone call, and some tense moments on the part of our salesman (I'm pretty sure he knew we would walk out if the number didn't come back to the lower one), the Bossman turned to half face us. To our salesman, he said this: "If they buy it t'day….they can have the lower price. But if they don't…price is going up." Again, put the pauses and the vocal affectations in there and you've got it.
Our salesman looked relieved. Coming over to us, he said "Someone saved you $1000 today." I got the impression that someone might be out of a job soon.
I named some of them – there was Bossman, of course. And Pretty Boy. And the Numbers Guy who told me I only had a few more years left until all my schooling took me out. Because of what happened to his ex-wife's cousin's husband. This same fellow asked me if I were Arabic because my signature didn't look English.
I think we were ALL getting a little punchy – at one point I actually called the salesman a dork and he agreed that he was one. The fellow with the short mom told us that Numbers Guy was the worst part of the experience and I said, "You mean, he's worse than you?" His response was that I should work there. I'd fit right in.
In the end, it is not a place where I want hang out for three hours again, but it was entertaining. And now I want a cannoli.
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