I’ve recently been doing the rounds of local dealers, inspecting and test-driving new cars prior to deciding which one merits getting myself into five years worth of debt for. The difference between this exercise and my normal assignments was that price was a major factor in whether a car made it onto the “wanted” list or not.
I started with a list of cars I liked. This was brutally panel beaten into a list of cars within my price range, and then again into a (much shorter) list of those I could really, actually afford.
Driving around in a normal sedan takes some getting used to. Let me explain. I’ve been ferrying kids and equipment around in Toyota’s equivalent of a Sherman tank for ten years. My Toyota Venture is the most basic vehicle I’ve ever owned. It has no fringe benefits like power steering, electric windows, central locking, or seat belts in the back. I’m not even sure it has shock absorbers, since driving over “traffic calming” ripples causes such severe shudders and rattles that the aftermarket CD player spits out the disc, and whatever the kids are eating or drinking ends up all over the back seat.
But I love my old bus. I love that in traffic jams I can see way past the cars in front. I love that it can carry a week’s worth of camping equipment and still have room for the kids. I love that after 250Â 000 kms it’s still pronounced healthy by the mechanic who does its regular servicing.
But the gas-guzzling plodder simply has to go. Doing the Durban to Jo’burg run is like being in a rowing boat; fifth, fourth, fifth, fourth, and I rarely get beyond third gear all the way up Van Reenen’s Pass.
So the selection criteria for my new car was price, fuel economy, passenger safety, luggage space, driver comfort and conveniences. Not necessarily in that order.
Having brutally consigned our ageing four-wheeled member of the family to the classified ads, I hit the car showrooms.
Know what can make or break a deal? The salesman.
Sure, the product must be up to scratch, but there’s nothing to gladden a girl’s heart more than a salesman who’s informative without being patronising, attentive without fawning all over you, follows through on his promises, and doesn’t knock the competition in a desperate attempt to close a sale.
Believe me, I’ve seen ’em all — the trustworthy and the trashy, the down to earth and the devious, the professional and the pillock, the knowledgeable and the vague, and the ethical and the downright offensive. Some salesmen are a waste of space. It defies logic. They work on commission, don’t they?
Buying a car is only the beginning of an association with a dealer that continues at least for the duration of the warranty period. A first-rate salesman instills confidence in the whole dealership. But if there’s a clown in the showroom, the workshop’s probably a circus too. Most dealers will oblige with test drives for anything in which you show an interest, and will give you detailed spec sheets and an accurate price. Others tend to rattle off extravagant lies about models they don’t have and don’t know when they’re getting, but will still promise delivery this week if you’ll “just sign here”.
A few months ago I took a friend to Hyundai Pinetown to test drive a Getz. She’d expected to take delivery of a brand new Kia Rio the week before, and was growing impatient with an apparently indifferent salesman who couldn’t be bothered to deliver what he’d promised.
Not only was my friend bowled over by the little Getz, she was also impressed by the professional and courteous sales team. “This is the kind of dealer you want to buy a car from.” She cancelled her Rio. The errant dealer was suddenly all over her like a rash, offering free accessories and discounted optional extras. But it was too little, too late. I hope the Kia salesman saw her drive away in her new Getz the following day. However, I hope he hasn’t seen her trailing backwards and forwards to the Renault service centre that looks after Hyundai customers (although “looks after” is somewhat inappropriate), in a vain attempt to get minor odds and ends repaired or adjusted by a workshop that appears to be devoid of spare parts or competent mechanics.
The problem doesn’t seem to be confined to Hyundai either, since I’ve had numerous reports from Renault owners who’ve waited weeks for spares to arrive from Europe.
Consequently, my own shopping list was restricted to Toyota, VW, or Ford, not least because a reliable source told me that spares for these makes are both affordable and available; and preferably a low-mileage dealer demo due to my limited budget.
There are some dealerships I’d recommend in a heartbeat; others I wouldn’t set foot in again unless they were holding my kids hostage. One I’d recommend at the drop of a hat is Barloworld Armstrong in Pietermaritzburg — a FordDirect dealer of approved used Fords. Their claims about the three-month-old Fiesta were accurate and honest (odometer reading, general condition, etc.), and their rep delivered the car to me on the promised date. In the rain. With a smile. And a bottle of wine. The whole process was painless. The deal included the balance (33 months) of the new car warranty, rust warranty, and FordProtect membership (free roadside assistance, breakdown vehicle recovery, and emergency rescue service).
If I’d waited for McCarthy Call-A-Car, I’d still be a pedestrian; they’ve yet to phone me back.