Tales From Sales: Grizzly Theft Auto

Editor's Note: Continuing this new series, Matthew Guy tells us some stories from in the trenches as a car salesman. Some are ridiculous, some gob smacking. Fact or fiction? You decide.

The excuse phrase often uttered in December by car salesmen is “You can’t compete with Santa Claus”. Nevertheless, presents do occasionally appear.

The day before Christmas Eve, I greeted a man who was exceptionally well spoken but appeared to have a running bet with Grizzly Adams on who could grow the most facial hair. I had spied him pawing over an off-lease SUV fresh from the auctions. He was accompanied by a friend who had driven him there in a non-descript Civic.

We went off for a test drive and my finely honed BS detector was silent on this guy. I must have been distracted by Christmas thoughts, given the time of year. He took the SUV to a couple of snow covered parking lots, drove it on the highway, and returned to the dealership.

“Let’s work something out” he said, chewing on an alarming amount of bubblegum.

We haggled about some non-meaningful items such as number of payments and the inclusion of some all-weather floor mats. I took his credit card to secure a $500 deposit.

“I’ll be back in an hour with a certified cheque” said Grizzly, this time through a blizzard of Vachon cakes produced from an over the shoulder satchel, having dispensed with the Bubbalicious in a corner garbage can.

Deposit in hand, I walked over to the business office. We were the only two people in the dealership that evening. Triumphantly, I gave him the details he needed to complete the paperwork. He made sure to load the old dot matrix printer such that an extra charge or two could be inserted into the document at the page breaks where they would be hard to see. High fives all around.

Grizzly returned right on schedule. I shepherded him to the business manager and returned to my office. I was trying to figure out how the hell to divide up Christmas. At the time I was seeing two ladies who had no knowledge of each other – a statuesque, yet strangely shy blond who would probably say nothing if she discovered my indiscretions and a fiery redhead who, alternatively, would probably rip my nuts off and feed them to me if she became wise. Naturally, I liked the redhead better. That’s another story.

The customer emerged from the business office and I greeted him with the keys and a tattered owner’s manual. It being December 23rd, I showed him the finer points of Ford’s 4x4 system and sent him on his way. In short order, the business manager appeared.

“That was a good wallet for you” he said, noting the term that is used to describe an easy sale.

“Yes”, I replied, anxious to get out of there and onto my planned festive debauchery.

My colleague looked at me expectantly, “So where’s the cheque?”

Momentarily confused, I thought he was talking about the checkmarks that we earned on The Big Board denoting a new sale. “I guess I’ll mark it up after Christmas, why?”

“No, no. The cheque. Payment. Dollars.” He was getting increasingly agitated. “Grizzly told me he gave you the certified cheque.”“Why the hell would I take payment? You’re the Money Man!”

It didn’t matter who was truly at fault. The facts were we are the only two people in the building and a guy just drove away in a $30,000 truck without paying for it.

Expletives were shouted as we raced to examine the paperwork. An address was listed. Unsurprisingly, it was in a part of town that featured more violent crime than a game of Grand Theft Auto.

We had no choice. Expecting to find a stripped, burned SUV in the seediest part of town, we hastily locked up the dealership, piled into a Toyota truck sitting by the door, and tore out of the parking lot. It was snowing heavily by this time and darkness had fallen. Some wallet this turned out to be!

I remember wondering what we were going to do if we actually found the truck; him giving up the keys would not be a likely event. Plus, there’s no way this is the right address. No one’s that stupid. Turning onto a rutted street, the remarkable sight of an unbroken SUV buoyed our spirits.

Keep in mind that I’m 6’6” and my colleague is not much off that. We briefly discussed one of us bursting into the house while the other stood guard but quickly abandoned that idea when an ill tempered German Shepherd appeared. He was tethered with what looked like a timing chain from God’s own engine. We raced up to the door. I brandished a pitiful Swiss Army knife.

Grizzly opened the door before we got to the top of the steps. For an instant I expected him to blow my head off with a shotgun. In retrospect, rushing the door armed with what might as well have been a fistful of dandelions was an exceptionally bad idea. But here’s the reality – Grizzly was falling down drunk and provided not one whit of resistance as we searched his house for the keys to the stolen SUV.

Arriving back at the dealership, the paperwork was torn up and the SUV parked against a snowbank. After Christmas, the Dealer Principal wondered aloud why we took a $500 deposit on the 23rd but didn’t deliver any cars.

The business manager and I looked at each other. “Have a seat, sir”, I replied, “Have we got a story for you.”

Find Matthew Guy on Twitter @matthewkguy (Matthew the Car Guy)