Sales Ducks

Paula and I are in the market for a new car. We've decided on the make and model and spent a good deal of time researching options and pricing on the web. When we're ready to purchase we'll probably go through a broker so we can avoid the hassle of dealing with shady car salespeople. But we did want to at least test drive the car we're interested in. So we recently found ourselves sitting around a table in the middle of a huge dealership, listening to a slightly shady car salesman tell us all the reasons why we should not buy the other competing brands of cars that we were also interested in. As he went on and on about how terrible and unreliable a Subaru can be, I found myself smirking at the memory of car shopping with Dad.

With the exception of his first new car—a '56 Chevy Bel Air—Dad did not have the luxury of buying a car that he wanted. Instead, he drove a variety of large-family-friendly VW buses, work-supplied compact sedans, and a VW Rabbit diesel purchased solely for it's fuel economy on his daily commute to work. When he finally found himself in a position to purchase a car that he could actually enjoy driving, he decided he was going to keep an open mind and take a look at a number of sedans available. Being 15 at the time, I had no reservations about joining him on numerous trips to check out and test drive the cars on his list. We looked at Volvos, Nissans, Toyotas, Mazdas, and VWs. The last on his list was Honda.

Before we even made ten steps onto the sales lot, we were greeted by a very excited salesman. He shook our hands and asked Dad about what he was looking for. As we headed towards the Accords, he asked Dad if he'd looked at sedans from other manufacturers. "I don't think that really matters" he replied. The salesman pressed and Dad reluctantly listed off the cars we'd previously viewed. The salesman jumped on the opportunity and started telling us about all the inferiorities of the other cars we'd viewed. Dad interrupted him, saying, "I don't want to you tell me about what's wrong with other cars, I want you to tell me what's right about yours." "Of course" replied the salesman. But within minutes he went right back to dissing the competition. Dad, by now getting really annoyed, said "Listen, if you can't stop telling me about what's wrong with the competition then I'm going to walk right off your lot and you're going to lose a sale." The salesman was very apologetic and said he understood completely. "But I just want you to know that Volvo's maintenance issues are..." And, with that, Dad said "Let's go, Tim" and we walked off the lot, just as promised. The salesman followed us all the way to our car, pleading for us to give him another chance. We got in the car and left. In the end, Dad bought the Volvo.

Dad was never an easy person to sell to—he asked a lot of questions and demanded the attention he deserved as a consumer. He also had a keen knowledge of the tactics of salespeople, having been a salesman himself and through his role as purchasing manager at his business. He'd call them "sales ducks," perhaps because all he'd hear from the bad ones would be incessant quacking noises. He would make salespeople jump through hoops and in many ways was their worst nightmare, but, if they kept with him and showed him respect, they'd get a good, solid client out of him.

As for me, I just let our sales guy go on his canned narrative, dissing the qualities of the competition. I would have been more annoyed with his commentary had we not been there just to get a test drive out of him. He wasn't getting a sale out of us and I figured the least I could do is let him polish up on his best sales duck techniques.