n l SENIOR MOMENT

Never buy a car from a guy named Goo

The last time I bought a brand-spanking new car was 1988.
That was exactly 20 years after I purchased my first new car.
In 1968, I was 23 years old and went searching for a fastback Ford Mustang. I thought it was the sharpest car I had ever seen.

I even liked it better than my 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, the one that burned up. But that’s another story.

I learned a lot in the 20 years between new car purchases.

The most important thing I learned was never buy a vehicle from a salesman whose nickname is Goo.

I didn’t know anything about buying cars. My dad bought me a 1947 Jeep wagon when I was in high school, figuring it was too slow for me to hot rod. The speedometer only went to 70 mph.

I proved him wrong when I blew the engine trying to race a 1961 Pontiac. That, too, is another story.

Anyway, I was at a Greensboro dealership searching for the Mustang of my dreams. Goo was the salesman who came out to greet me.

“Looking for a new car?” he asked. “I can put you in one today.”

Yes, I replied, and told him what I was looking for. It was late in the model year and pickings were slim. What they had, I couldn’t afford.

It never occurred to me that there were a zillion other Ford dealerships and shopping around wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Goo had me in his clutches.

He was smooth. Words flowed from his mouth like a river. He had 10,000 reasons why I needed to buy a car from him that very day.

I was mesmerized. All I could do was nod my head.
My dreams of a Mustang dashed, I looked at some of the other models. Goo led me to the showroom.

And there it was.

Parked in the middle of the showroom floor was a brand new Torino fastback. It had the same general shape as the Mustang, only longer.

It was a beautiful gold color with black accent stripes. The lights from the showroom made the car glitter. I was smitten.

“How much?” I asked timidly.

Goo quoted me the sticker price, but said they would give me $500 trade-in for my 1964 Volvo.

I nodded my head. All I could see through my dazzled eyes was that shiny golden car. It wasn’t a Mustang, but it was close enough to suit me.

The car was about as plain as you can get. It had a manual transmission, a three-speed on the steering column. It had a radio. That was it. No air conditioning. No power windows. No rear speakers. No leather interior. No sporty wheels. No anything.

It didn’t matter. I had a vision of me behind the wheel of that golden vehicle and nothing else mattered.

Goo started talking about tax, license fees, dealer preparation charges, undercoating and a dozen other extra charges.

I continued to nod my head. My brain was dead. All I wanted was that car. I bought it that day.

A number of cars later, I’m back in the car-shopping mood once again.

The task is a lot tougher than it was in 1968. There are so many nice-looking cars available that it’s hard to decide.
But I know the basics of what I want. It has to be something with an automatic transmission, air conditioning, radio-CD player, room to carry some cargo, good gas mileage and doesn’t look like everything else on the highway.

There are several makes that offer such vehicles, and I’m slowly starting to narrow down the candidates.

I’m better prepared for car shopping than I was in 1968. In 1988, I made a deal I was happy with. The dealer made some profit, which is fine, and I got a price that was satisfactory. It took some shopping around and firm commitment, but I learned that’s the best way to deal.

After writing this, I fully expect to hear from car salesmen and that’s OK.

But anyone named Goo need not apply. n