As I said last week, I'm on a quest for a new car because, well, the old one stinks.

        Buying a car is such a pathetic experience. You walk in dumbfounded, get rushed by a friendly stranger trained to sell, take congratulations on the purchase of such a reliable vehicle, then are sold an extended warranty.

        Or you have a plan.

        The plan was to visit five car lots on the same day, seeking a specific make and model. I knew what I wanted. I knew, thanks to the Internet and lots of idle time, what it should cost.

        The sticker price is for suckers. So are long waits in offices with folding walls, lusting after options while the salesman talks with his manager when he's really in the lounge, reading the paper or sipping a cup of coffee.

        You can't take any stuff from these guys. You need to know what you know.

        “I know what you paid for the car,” I would say. I rehearsed my plan. “I know what mine is worth in trade. I will give you 3 percent over invoice, chief, minus my trade. You wanna sell me a car. That's how it's gonna be.”

        I would do this five times. I would get five prices. At the end of the day, I would buy a car. Foolproof.

        The foolproof plan only works when you're dealing with a salesman who actually wants to sell you a car. “I'm buying a car today,” I began, very confidently.

        “Today?” the salesman said. I think his name was Todd. “Oh. Well. I don't know.”

        Don't know what? If I said I wanted a car six years from now, would you show me something? I want a car. I said I was buying one . . . today! You sell cars, don't you, Todd?

        This is great. I'm ready for the hard sell. I get a guy who ate too many mushrooms his junior year abroad.

        “I think there was one back in the showroom,” I said to Todd, as we stood on the lot, staring vacantly. The car in the showroom had a big sign on it, and balloons. Three blind mice could have seen this car. Todd practically slammed his knee on the rear bumper as he passed it, heading out the door.

        “We had one in the showroom?” he said.

        This is my first dealership. Things are not going well.

        “What's the plan now, smart guy?” my wife said.

        “Begging,” I said.

        We don't buy anything else this way, except occasionally houses. We don't walk into Home Depot and contest the price of screwdrivers. It is what it is. Not with cars, though. We have special rules for cars.

        The third place, the salesman said, “What's it gonna take to get you in this car?” That was more like it. Then he left to talk to his manager.

        “Let's talk loudly and be cynical,” I said. My wife agreed, then suggested we say something extraneous, to see if the guy mentioned it when he came back.

        “If this guy doesn't meet our price, we're gone like the wind,” I said. “WE ARE OUTTA DODGE, SISTER, AND I AIN'T TALKIN' RAM TRUCKS. WE'RE GONNA MAKE LIKE A TREE AND LEAVE.”

        How was that, I whispered.

        “Pathetic,” my wife said. “When does the UC game start?”

        The salesman came back. “I think we can help you. You drive a hard bargain and we respect that. How do you think the Bearcats will do today?”

        We had him right where we wanted him.

        Next week: Everyman buys the car of his dreams. The salesman bows to the E-man's expertise, then laughs hysterically as the happy driver leaves the lot.

        Contact Paul Daugherty by phone: 768-8454; fax: 768-8330; e-mail: pdaugherty@enquirer.com.
       

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