The Haggler

I have been following Geoff and Liz's blog about living down unda in Australia called "Notes from the Shire". The latest addition is a priceless look at the underbelly of Western Australia and their fascination with cars. I can relate to Geoff's feeling of ignorance when asked about the various "makings" of his ride. Growing up in rural Oregon, a man proved his intelligence by the depth and veracity in which he could describe his trucks engine, tires, or exhaust. I lived at the beginning of the age of "lift kits" and big tires. When guys would come to school with their trucks splattered with mud or spend half the day welding roll bars in shop class. I just never caught the fever.
My first car was a Volkswagen bug. I bought it for $2200 dollars when I was 18 years old for 50$ less than the owner was asking for. My dad let me do the talking that day. Obviously to teach me a lesson about the "haggle" and that is, if you want to haggle you better make a counter offer with a little more meat on it. In the end I was never unhappy about the price. I loved that car. My second vehicle was my parents Nissan truck, my friends affectionately called the "Grey Warrior". I think it got that title after a couple buddies and I drove it down to the tip of Baja and back. My parents had more or less given the truck to me, but it was never registered in my name and for most of the time it was running, it sounded and looked like it shouldn't be.
Five years ago, that truck had 300,000 miles on it and had pretty much stopped running. I remember it got so bad that I would have to push start it myself every day. The time had come for me to go car shopping. It happened to be a time in my life when my lack of experience purchasing a car was really messing with my head. I already had a complex going on the account that I was single, jobless, didn't own a house, and had not really figured out what I wanted in life.
But then I got a job and I felt like it was time to buy a car. For whatever reason I wanted to have a Subaru Sudan. I had found one at a local car dealership, but it was a bit pricey. To get the price down, I enlisted the help of my friend Chris. He is from Queens and has probably owned 50 different cars in his life. He likes to haggle just for the fun of it. The whole experience was hilarious. When we got to the dealership he described with finite accuracy every statement and movement the salesman made, before it even happened.
"No matter what he says, don't sound like you really like the car. Now watch. When he goes back into his office, it will about 4 minutes, he will come back and tell you that his manager things he can go a little lower, but he will have to check some numbers." This all went on for a couple of days until finally Chris told me I would have to make up my mind. "We" had talked them down about 3500$ but they weren't going to drop any farther. I had to think about it. At the time having a car that didn't rattle and squeak seemed to carry so much weight for me. I figured I'd never get a decent date with my old clunker, but I just felt so uneasy about committing myself to 300$ a month payments. What to do..
I don't go to bars alone much. I never have. But Soriah, it was different. The long wooden bar, the familiar faces making drinks, the lovely people that seemed to almost enjoying seeing a guy drinking alone, felt good to me. I walked in that day at a crossroad. Cars seem to define a man. Just like the bars they drink in. Those days a guy couldn't go to Soriah without seeing the familiar face of Nigel. He'd often be alone and he was comfortable in his own skin that way. For one reason he's a Brit. He always looked comfortable alone; doing a crossword, reading, or just easily chatting with whomever was there. They guy is witty. He is brilliant. He is, as he was that day, incredibly present. The thing is, I never felt like I could keep up with Nigel. But that day I didn't really care. When he asked me, "how are things?" I told him the story of my dilemma about buying a car. He looked at me and without even hesitating, nonchalantly said, "well it would seem to be your lucky day mate. How about I sell you my car?" What? I didn't even know the guy could drive. He's a Brit for Christ's sake. He told me that his 87' Saab had been sitting for over a year and that it probably only needed a battery. The fact was he had finally decided to donate it. How much did he want to sell it for I asked. How about $1 was his reply. How could I say no? Two days later I met him at the gated entrance to his apartment complex parking lot, with a battery in hand. The only problem was that I had forgotten to bring the symbolic dollar bill. Reaching inside the console I found $2.43. I paid Nigel and pocketed the other $1.43. I like to tell people I made a a buck forty on the deal. In the end, Nigel really taught me the true lesson of the haggle. Just put it out there. It will come to ya.