Real World Encounters With Used Car Dealers

In honor of my Q&A with Frank, I've got a treat for all you Nancy Matson historians out there: a short re-telling of my three most notable encounters with used car dealers. Now that I've got the inside scoop on the cutthroat nature of the biz, it all makes sense. A horrible, tragic kind of sense.

#1. A used car lot in Marina del Rey, CA. Some guy in a cheap suit approaches me as I walk on the lot and starts talking. I cut him off and say, "I just want to look around, and I don't want to talk to anyone. If anyone tries to help me, I'm leaving." Twenty, thirty seconds pass, and the guy returns, unable to help himself. He asks if I want any help and makes a few suggestions about what vehicle might suit my needs. I instantly walk off the lot.

#2. A used car lot in the Valley. I enter the office of an older used car salesman, despite the Jack Lemmon/Glengarry Glen Ross vibe. I've already scanned the lot for any cars that meet my very specific criteria, and find none. I reluctantly give him my phone number and the following specific instructions: "I want a Honda, Mazda, or Toyota with less than 60,000 miles on it. I don't care how old it is, and I don't want to pay more than $5,000. If you get a car like that, call me."

Two days later, he leaves me a message about a Chevy Cavalier with 90,000 miles on it. I reiterate that I am really only interested in the specific cars I mentioned. Two days after that, he calls me about a Volkswagen. At this point, I tell him I already bought a car.

#3. A used car lot in Ingelwood. I test drive a green car -- possibly a Ford Taurus. The saleswoman is seated in the passenger seat. About a block away, I notice the check engine light is on.

"Uh, the check engine light is on," I point out. I don't know a lot about cars, but I know that's bad.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll take care of it."

Most likely, my boyfriend suggests later, by dousing the light.