"A lot of companies would put in a pretty system that looks good, but doesn't provide any real protection." "Oh, let's get that!"

I’ve held a lot of job titles in my lifetime: DQ dude, lid boy, fish nerd. I’ve never been a used car salesman though. I’ve never been any sort of salesman unless you count the times I tried to sell customers on the idea of spending an extra $.15 to upgrade their shake to a malt.* Despite my utter lack of qualifications for doing so, I tried selling my old car this past weekend. I think I did fairly well, as long as you define “well” as “selling it in less than a week for 75% of the printed asking price.”

My old car was a 1993 Oldsmobile 88 Royale with 153,000 miles, but it still had a lot of things going for it. It’s about as fully loaded as a 12-year-old car can get with power everything, air conditioning, a CD player, and more useful accessories, most of which still work. Its color is a dark red, sporty enough to be vaguely exciting, yet dull enough to not act as a cop magnet. It’s a large car with a large engine that still has plenty of power, yet its gas mileage is mysteriously as good or better than any comparable new car. We know the entire ownership history for the vehicle: Us for a year, and Ellie’s grandmother bought it new before that. Some more trusting souls might believe that the fact that a grandmother owned it for better than a decade would give it an advantage of being treated gently. Little did they know that she has a bit of a reputation of having a lead foot. Not that I’d ever tell anyone that.

Of course it has some problems, starting with the fact that it’s a 12-year-old car with 153,000 miles. Not that any prospective buyers want to hear that; everyone wants to think that they’re looking at an enchanted car that still runs like it did the first day it came off the lot and will continue running smooth as silk in perpetuity thanks to the magic gnomes living under the hood. I started off wanting to be honest with people, that it runs like a 12-year-old car with 153,000 miles. As the days progressed, though, my answer to the inevitable “how does it run” question morphed from “pretty good” to “real good. It still has plenty of get up and go, doesn’t burn any oil, doesn’t leak any fluids, and doesn’t make any funny noises.” All of which is true and a convoluted way of saying what I originally wanted to say, even if “doesn’t make any funny noises” isn’t really a compelling reason to buy a car.

The first day it was listed we took three calls, one of which came out that night to look. He looked at it closely, asked several questions, and spent longer than an hour looking it over. Finally he asked me to give him a “nice price” and he’d pay cash right now. I took $100 off the asking price and he proceeded to look the car over for another couple minutes before saying it was too much for him. I asked what he’d be willing to pay, and discovered that no one buying a car actually wants to make you an offer, they just want you to keep throwing out figures until you screw up and say something wacky like “$2.62” or “I’ll give you my house if you just get it out of my sight right now.”

He spent at least five minutes looking at it in silence before finally uttering a lowball figure that was just over half our asking price. It was below what I wanted, and at the bottom of what I figured I’d accept when I got desperate. Since it was the first day of the listing, I told him to wait after the weekend and maybe we’d deal if I still had it.

As the days progressed I discovered another truism about used car buyers: They like to argue and insult you. I wouldn’t think that would be a smart move for someone who’s trying to shave 50% off the asking price, but people still do it. One guy balked when I asked him to call back in a couple minutes since I was busy at the moment, grilled me for several minutes, then asked what I’d take. Not in the mood to deal, I recited the book price, our asking price, and the offer I rejected.

“Oh,” he said seeming genuinely surprised. “You probably want more than that, huh?” He then told me all about a newer car he saw once with less miles that sold for less. I thought he should have bought that car.

Another guy looked at the car with the express purpose of starting it, revving it a few times, and arguing with me over how it got scratched. The car, like most 12-year-old vehicles, has some scratches and door dings. They’re not big enough to draw laughter on the interstate, but they exist.

“Where did these come from?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s a 12-year-old car. I guess things happen.”
“This looks like a dog.”
“It used to be on a farm with a lot of cats. It could have been them climbing on it.”
“Nah, that’s not from cats.”
“It’s a farm, could be lots of things. Raccoons. Opossums.”
“That’s a dog.”
“I don’t know, I never asked how it got scratched.”
“And this looks like kids scratched it.”
“… I don’t know, I never asked.”

He didn’t buy it either. Fortunately a young guy called Sunday morning, came out within an hour, and looked at it for about 15 minutes. He left telling me he liked it and he’d likely be back. An hour later he came back, offered 75% of our asking price, and I bit. It was less than I originally hoped for, but close enough. We’d only taken one call on Saturday, and I figured I’d better take his offer before they dry up completely. Then I took two more calls later that afternoon. I’m going to stick to my day job taking care of Abbie.

* “What’s the difference between a shake and a malt?”
“A malt has malt powder.”
“…Okay.”