-You can afford it-

Never expect to see that line in a salesman handbook, and yet, that is exactly what a man at the auto dealership said to my brother, one of the many below the mason-dixon line who has lost a car to the erratic late-summer weather.

It is “the many” part of the equation that prompted the dealer’s lazy faux pas; with so many desperate commuters equipped with insurance claim money and the need to replace their rides – and fast – this season is a bonanza for the men on the lots.

In this particular situation, the sloppy dealer erred. My brother did not buy a car from them, because the revelation of their cavalier attitude toward his money – even if that’s what all salesmen are thinking, it’s still not nice to come out and say it! – irked him to the point where he is willing to inconvenience himself a little while longer.

Maybe “You can afford it” is what they always thought and are still thinking, and maybe honesty, even that candor derived from ignorance, is preferable to promises and flatteries from the insincere car shark.

Maybe the courteous and the crass should advertise which style of salesmanship they intend to employ, perhaps in the form of a large inflatable animal in front of the dealership.

As long as the product is sound, wouldn’t we all prefer the courteous, if insincere approach? These dealers have moved enough volume this month to get high on success, losing the ability to finesse reluctant buyers and supposedly reluctant buyers up from the factory price, up to the point where the salesman, dealer, and factory all receive a healthy profit, and the buyer leaves the lot feeling good about the purchase.

But they.. they are sloppy for more reasons than stormy weather. These days, the bureaucracy of the car class has robbed the process of sales techniques and showroom moxie. How can we expect the young auto merchant to develop a discerning eye and an ability to talk to people if the computer in their office spits out the buyer’s specs before they have a chance to discuss a single car?

I yearn for the days when a salesman was a scoundrel, reviled in the privacy of our homes and over neighbor’s fences, but respected for their intuition in sizing up clients and seducing their money with the sun-blasted sexiness of chrome, displayed at just the right time, setting the ball-bearing in motion, a steel marble tracing down that silhouette, the proper pauses for respect, the affectionately antiquated expressions for conveying trust, craftsmanship and mechanized power. They could make you want the car, but forget the business behind it. They could make you spend more than you intended, but never more than you could afford.

They would never say “you can afford it,” because the car was no longer a commodity to be bought and sold, but a bond, a trust to be transferred between the only two people who respected it.

That's how we feel when we drive off the lot, and what we say to our friends and family, and even if a cynical part of ourselves doesn't accept it, couldn't that feeling take on a believable reality of its own?