I’m the finance officer at the car dealership, and my job is to scare you just enough so that you buy every after-market warranty, protection package, and accessory that I tell you to.
Yes, I understand that you’ve already “struck a deal” with the salesperson who convinced you that the brand of car that our dealership sells is dependable, well-built, cool-looking, and has all the features that you are looking for. I, too, know that the manager has minimally participated, has told you that you’re getting the best price, and has expertly handled your sad attempt at haggling. He also offered you water. Hands have been shaken, congratulations proffered, signatures inked.
I’m the finance officer at the dealership and I’m here to break your heart into little pieces. I’m here to take away, bogeyman-style, all the excitement that you had when you walked into my small windowless office of torture. I have piles of papers in front of me. I have a dot matrix printer and a calculator with a rolling tape that spills off the desk and onto the floor. I have two monitors, one that rotates out so I can show you things, one that does not that you cannot see and will never, ever see.
Everything is on that screen. I am Oz.
I’m the finance officer at the car dealership and I’m telling you that the car that you just agreed to buy is bad. Very bad. Yes, there is a factory warranty—also very bad. On the paper that is facing you, and facing away from me, I write numbers that stand for months, miles, and dollars. Yes, I can write upside-down. I also write a lot of question marks. You’re filling with anxiety and it’s only going to get worse. Serotonin level are being destroyed.
I’m the finance officer at the car dealership I, too, offer you a water, but only after I see that you’ve needed it for a long time. Only after your eyes glaze over and I see that you are mine.
I’m the finance officer at the car dealership and I tell you that I presently own two of this car brand and that over my life I’ve owned twelve. I also tell you that, even though I work for the car dealership, I always purchase the extended warranty, the tire and wheel package, the dents and ding package, the whole shebang. I don’t get discounts on these products, but I buy them because I’m smart. I intimate to you that if you don’t do the same, you’re not smart, you’re dumb.
I’m the finance director at the car dealership and I do, occasionally, let you speak. It’s good when you speak because I’ve heard it all and I have retorts that will further destroy you. You say your insurance covers glass replacement? Sure, that will be non-factory glass, you know that, right? Non-factory glass has side effects such as cataracts and retinal cancer. Is that what you want when a stray pebble starts a spider web crack on the windshield of your car? The car you’ve wanted for so long? The car you’ve been googling for months, test-driven, and expertly negotiated? The car that’s in your grasp? You don’t seem like that kind of person. What else can I answer for you?
I’m the finance director at the car dealership and I know that the seat you are sitting in doesn’t have lumbar support and that the armrests are at the wrong height for your body. I’m not looking out for you. You think that I have your best interests at heart, but I do not have a heart. The place where my heart should be is cold and dark, like a failed transmission.
I’m the finance director at the car dealership and I have a plan that you cannot defeat. You see, I win either way. If you, somehow, have the intestinal fortitude to withstand my little shop of horrors, you may indeed walk out of here with a swollen feeling of victory. Good for you. But, somewhere down the line, something will happen to your car and you will remember this day, and your supposed triumph. You will say to yourself, “I can’t believe I didn’t get the ‘offered coverage'. I can’t believe it costs ‘inflation-adjusted cost' to have this ‘issue' repaired.”
“I’m so dumb,” you will say.
And, of course, I win when you buy. It’s a notch in my belt. It’s a bump in my pay. It’s validation that I’m a closer and I have a closer’s mentality.
What? What’s that you say? You aren't interested? Are you sure? You’re sure. Okay. Is there a number that would make you feel more comfortable? Zero? Zero meaning there is no number, or zero meaning zero dollars? Okay, well, I think we both know I can’t give you all this coverage for zero dollars. But nice try. This decision will haunt you, I say. Good luck with your new car.
You’ll need it.