Columnist John Katsilometes: Buying a car isn’t automatic

Monday, Aug. 14, 2000 | 9:35 a.m.

John Katsilometes is the Sun features editor. His column appears Mondays. Reach him at kats@lasvegassun.com or 259-2327.

This is for the younger people out there, the teenagers just old enough to drive.

Ahem.

You're fortunate to be experiencing the blush and buzz of becoming a legal driver. That's wonderful. Nary a day goes by when I don't warmly smile at some of the more innovative driving methods (such as the abrupt 45-mph U-turn in the Meadows mall parking lot) of some of our youthful ilk.

But the topic at hand is not how, but what, you drive. Someday you will buy a new car. Might be four weeks. Might be four years. But there will be a time when you test-drive a car with tires so new and clean and appetizing you might want to take a bite right out of them. And you might actually do so.

When you start planning for your purchase, you'll make a list of cars you find desirable that fit your financial means. You will find there is no such beast -- you might want a turbo-charged, V-12 Panther XSE convertible, but can only afford the Yokomata EZ four-cylinder, which should get 50 miles per gallon for the duration of its 20,000-mile life and have the safety features of an apple crate.

On your quest you will tour various car dealerships, driving different types of cars and taking mental notes. This process is folly. All new cars are wonderful, certainly more so than whatever port-a-potty you drove to the lot. With a new car, the door slams more with a louder "thump!," the windows are clear as crystal, the dash lights are brighter and the stereos play better music. New cars never have yesterday's Taco Bell wrappers strewn about the back seat (but that's always an option that can be negotiated).

When you finally flesh out your ideal car you will be dealing with a genuinely fine, honest salesperson. His name might be Randy, and Randy will be your type of guy -- he might have dyed blond hair and a tattoo of something that looks like a scythe on his right forearm, but he's also a devoted single father who works hard at his job. Randy is good. Randy seems honest. Randy can tell a good joke.

Moreover, Randy wants to put you in a car (this means sell you one) and he will lead you willingly into a room with a round table to close the deal.

Randy will produce a form and start jotting down numbers. To you, those numbers look good. Forget those numbers. Randy will leave and return with a new person, a vaguely unsettling person named Richard who wears a trimmed beard and an expensive but ugly tie.

You will notice that Richard's hand is cold to the shake.

Richard will tell you how long he's been selling cars, and it will always seem inordinately long (say, 29 years), which will in turn make you feel insufficient negotiating against his expertise. Richard will flip over Randy's sheet (Randy will be fully out of the discussion by now) and start jotting down his own numbers.

There will be a $312, tied in with a 72, then a 66 with a $390. Richard will have more sleight-of-hand moves than Teller and Harry Anderson combined. He'll jot down a $400 with an 11 percent and a 60, circle the $312, draw a line representing just how long 60 represents and make grandiose statements like, "We can get you into this car, but there has to be flexibility on either the 60 or the $312."

You'll ask questions on the fly, such as, "Where'd that $312 come from?" and Richard will say something condescending like, "OK, we can go over that again."

Richard's cell phone might buzz a couple of times, just as he's suspensefully jotting down a star between his $3,000 and 66, and he might suddenly leave the table for 10 minutes. Then he'll return to tell you the call was from his 6-year-old daughter. He might also tell you he has 6-year-old twins, minutes after mentioning that he's in his mid-50s, and you might cynically start wondering about the probability of this story -- a fiftysomething car salesman's twin 6-year-old daughters dialing at the most crucial moments of a car sale.

And you might think, "Hmmmmm."

Richard will also wince at the sight of your calculator when his numbers don't seem to add up. Richard will hate the calculator, or anything else that impedes his polished presentation. Richard will also say some truly insulting things such as, "I've been in this business a long time, and let me explain interest rates to you," and you might think, "Does this man have a soul?"

But you will be able to beat Richard, because Richard -- more than anything -- wants you in that car. You will finally reach numbers, closer to yours than his, and when that happens Richard might stand up and ring a giant bell, which will jolt you out of your seat.

You will be run through a 45-minute gamut after agreeing to purchase the car, signing papers and turning down extensive but wholly useless warranty offers. By then it might be very late and you might be ready to drop, but you will be led to a pristine new vehicle and fire that baby up. It will carry the unique odor of car newness and be comfortable enough to nap in.

You will also notice a number on the dash that appears strangely out of place. It might be a 17, but don't be alarmed. My friend, that's the odometer.