I recently bought a new car. Like many latter-day car shoppers, I did much of my research online. These days, the Internet has become a car buyer’s point-of-entry. Consumers can arm themselves with an arsenal of information to prepare for the battle ahead.
Before setting foot in a showroom, I filled out a simple questionnaire at two manufacturer’s websites and checked off the car models I was considering. In so doing, I was inviting local dealers to pitch their wares.
And pitch they did.
First came the promise, from one dealer, of the vehicle I wanted, at a cost that would be “agreeable” to me. He offered the identical car that I had priced out on the manufacturer’s website, only the price tag had changed ”“ and not for the better.
Then came a second dealer with a different approach. This one sent an introductory e-mail, then a few follow-ups. When I didn’t respond, the e-mails stopped. The one-sided proceedings began and ended, appropriately, in the span of three weeks.
My favorite of the car correspondents, however, was a woman I’ll call Linda. A “client care specialist” for a major dealership, Linda began with a “welcome” note, followed by a “thank you,” then repeated reminders that I had, after all, requested information.
When, after several days, I still hadn’t replied, her sixth message began, “Did you get my last e-mail?”
Frankly, Linda’s e-mails not only went unanswered; they went unread.
I had started looking at other makes of cars and was paying little attention to the posts gathering in my in-box. It wasn’t until I saw a virtual stockpile of missives from her that I began to take note. They ranged from the informative (whether to buy or lease) to the inquisitive (are you still looking for a new car?); from the helpful (insurance tips) to the persistent (we “will not lose a customer over price,” she wrote).
One message included no less than four links that I could click to indicate my current status as a car buyer, with as many opportunities to curtail Linda’s resolve.
Then came the Mother of All Headlines: “You never call ”¦ you never write.”
This latest ploy would have amused me at any stage. But, as the twenty-second message (literally) in Linda’s ongoing sales blitz, arriving in the third month of this unrequited courtship, I had to roll my eyes.
If timing is everything, then Linda’s otherwise clever move was off ”“ by at least a month.
Linda and her counterparts are doubtless carrying on their sales tactics, alternately informing, amusing, and spamming would-be car buyers. Although I ended up buying a different make of car, Linda was hardly to blame. If anything, she only added to my respect for the low-key dealer who closed the sale.
— Joan Silverman writes op-eds, essays, and book reviews for numerous publications. She lives in Kennebunk.
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