Car Quest
WHEN MY SON STARTED graduate school seven years ago, we enticed him to save money by living at home. The catch: He’d need a set of wheels. Lori and I offered to help, provided he was open to a used vehicle. He agreed, and off we went to the nearest Honda dealership.
We were greeted in the parking lot by an enthusiastic salesperson. He invited us inside to chat, and promptly asked us what monthly car payment we were seeking. I looked him square in the eye and simply said, “Wrong question. Let’s start over.” The first item of business would be to find a car that fit my son’s needs.
We chit-chatted for a while about Hondas, and I nostalgically mentioned my love for the 2005 CR-V model with the built-in picnic table. A car like that would be perfect for my son.
The salesperson exhibited visible dissatisfaction as he now grasped that our goal was a used vehicle. He frowned as he realized his commission would be more akin to cubic zirconia than diamonds.
I could read his thoughts. “Do I look like a used car salesman?” he was no doubt muttering to himself. “Was this sucker”—meaning me—"really looking to purchase a 12-year-old car?” Nevertheless, he humored us, and punched in CR-V and the year 2005 into his database.
To everyone’s surprise, an elderly couple had traded in a vehicle matching that description earlier in the week. The owners were meticulous in their recordkeeping, and the car was in amazing condition. It had low mileage, was complete with original owner’s manuals, and had custom protective floor mats to boot.
We went for a test drive and my son immediately fell in love. Sure, it could use a new pair of shocks, but the engine purred like a kitten and the steering was remarkably smooth. More important, we discovered the original folding picnic table hidden in the trunk. Within two hours, I plunked down a wad of cash—actually a paper check—and we drove that puppy home.
My son was impressed with how I handled the entire process. It was a shared financial experience that bonded us in an unpredictable way. I followed up with a lesson on insurance coverage and another on basic car maintenance.
The title was registered in my name. My son sent me monthly payments for a while, and also contributed to the insurance costs. I never held him to that obligation, realizing that he was living off a small student stipend. Besides, we planned to give him the car after graduation. I did insist, however, that he pay for repairs, tires and general upkeep.
Fast forward seven years. My son is now gainfully employed and talking about getting a newer car. That 19-year-old CR-V has traveled more than 150,000 miles of roads, potholes and highways, not to mention collecting its share of well-earned parking tickets.
Admittedly, change is hard for my son. I could tell it was painful to think about giving up his beloved wheels. He’s generally nervous about the entire car-buying process and hesitant about possibly spending too much on a vehicle. I asked him if he’d like to go for a test drive, with me in tow, to ease his trepidation. He jumped at the opportunity.
His head was filled with new models, all of which could be purchased for five or 10 times more than we’d paid for his current set of wheels. I suggested we once again look at used cars, as we might benefit from their previous owner’s care, along with the steep depreciation from the original sticker price.
Once again, our quest began at a Honda dealership. An energetic young fellow made a beeline for us in the parking lot, inviting us inside to talk turkey. The first question he asked was how much we wanted to pay per month. Some things never change. I looked him in the eye and just laughed. Let’s look at cars first, I said, and then decide on financing.
Using a similar strategy that worked all those years ago, I asked if there were any used cars available. Perhaps something in the all-electric variety. Now, it was the salesperson’s turn to laugh. We both knew that Honda’s fully electric vehicle would not arrive at the showroom before next year. Nonetheless, he humored me and typed “electric” into his database.
I guess lightning can strike twice. A 2023 electric Chevy Bolt corporate trade-in arrived earlier that week. We test-drove the car and my son immediately fell in love. The list price was less than 60% of the newer version, and it came with a full 100,000-mile protection plan, including an eight-year warranty on the battery.
Add in the tax credits for buying electric vehicles and the price was too good to be true. One small glitch: The charging cord and owner’s manuals were missing. But they were already ordered for delivery early the following week.
We began the paperwork, ran a credit score on my son, and haggled over the trade-in value for his nearly two-decade-old “emerald status” CR-V. We settled on preliminary numbers.
The sales fellow went in search of final approval from his manager, only to come back crestfallen. Unfortunately, the dealership’s policy was to not sell electric cars without a functional charger. Furthermore, 12 people had already expressed interest in the car, four of whom were calling daily to see if the ordered charger had yet arrived.
Time to think outside the box. I asked if we could purchase the car if we had physical proof of a charging cable. He chuckled but ran the idea by his manager anyway. The manager said yes, that would work.
I spent the next 25 minutes calling dealers, auto parts stores and even the Salvation Army (that was a wrong number). There were no chargers in stock anywhere in the city, although we could order one for delivery. My son and I were visibly disappointed, not to mention a bit peeved at the time we’d spent haggling over pricing.
The salesperson took note. He excused himself, saying he had a quick call to make. He returned five minutes later with a Cheshire cat grin. His friend had a second charger he could bring to the dealership, provided we returned it when the one on order arrived. His manager agreed that this workaround met the house rules.
It took another hour to complete the transaction. There was some paperwork finagling involved since the trade-in CR-V was in my name, and the new car was solely in my son’s. But in the end, we left the dealer as happy campers.
Later that evening, I shared another financial lesson with my son, teaching him the benefits of accelerating payments to avoid most of the loan’s interest. My hope: This has become a tradition—and my son will invite me to join him the next time he goes car shopping.
Jeffrey K. Actor, PhD, was a professor at a major medical school in Houston for more than 25 years, serving as an academic researcher with interests in how immune responses function to fight pathogenic diseases. Jeff’s retirement goals are to write short science fiction stories, volunteer in the community and spend time in his garden. Check out his earlier articles.
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