Spinning my wheels at the car dealership

Randi Kreiss

Nervous breakdown isn’t a PC term, but can’t I use it just this once? It so perfectly describes my reaction to helping my parents lease a car this month. I was nervous, they were nervous, and I seem to have had a fairly impressive breakdown during the onerous process.

Early memory: I was 8 years old, and my dad was 33. I went with him to a car dealership in Laurelton, Queens. Mind-numbing hours of negotiation followed hours of mind-numbing small talk. Finally the deal was struck. My dad shook hands with the salesman on the other side of the desk. We were exhausted and relieved.

Then the salesman remembered “just one more detail,” went to consult with his “boss” and came back with an additional charge, for undercoating or something. My dad’s face blanched dead white, he started shaking, gripped the edge of the desk, and I was pretty sure he would fly over the desktop to strangle the salesman on the spot.

Apparently not that much has changed in the car-buying business.

A few weeks ago in Florida, my parents asked me to negotiate a lease on a new car and walk them through the process. My mom is, ahem, past 85 and my dad proudly claims his 92 years. She drives a little. He drives less, but they need their wheels, and the state of Florida will give a driver’s license to a chimpanzee — even a very old one — so there are no issues.

I had one day to seal the deal, and was experiencing great trepidation. I’d never bought or leased a car. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I feared we’d be taken for a ride. Also, my future was hitting me between the eyes. If I lived long enough, some day my kids would be guiding me through this process.

My husband, to whom I am profoundly grateful, always makes the car deals. I am so indifferent to what I drive that I don’t even go with him. He knows I’ll be fine with what he brings home.