Can it be that car dealerships, not golf clubs, are the last bastion of the male chauvinist pig?
I've bought many cars in the 37 years that I've been driving: 3 Polos, 2 Golfs, 3 Beetles (old style), a Mazda 3, a Renault Megane, a Rover. All of them were sold to me by men. All of these men managed to patronise me, even as I handed over large amounts of money for my cars.
John MacKenzie (Port Charlotte) was the least insulting but he sent me off alone on a test drive with a Polo coupé, looking worried and saying: 'Remember, if you bend it, you buy it!' On reflection, John always looked worried. I didn't bend it but I bought the Polo coupé and looked after it very well for years.
After I bought the Rover, I phoned the dealer in East Kilbride to arrange a service (in those days, I was clocking up big mileage in Argyll & Bute and so had my car serviced every six months). The guy on the phone was a bit shocked that I wanted to book the car in for a service 2 weeks in advance: 'Phone us next week, dear,' he said. I never saw him again but I hope his ears are still burning from the customer evaluation I left on their phone line. I am nobody's 'dear.'
The Megane developed a problem with the catalytic converter (well, they all did) but while other Megane drivers were dropping their cars off to be fixed every other day, it took me weeks of smelling rotten eggs to get mine booked in. It only reached the top of the heap when I phoned and left a message that I was planning to hire a replacement car (to be charged to them) and leave mine on their forecourt with a big notice reading 'Another Disappointed Customer.'
I bought a Polo at the end of September last year. I like it a lot. It's supposed to be nippy, cheap to run and look good. Sadly, it has already needed a new clutch after less than 600 miles. The dealership is keen to keep my custom, and given the number of Volkswagens I've bought in my time (see above) so they should but no one is prepared to admit the sad fact that this car is a dud. If there are problems, it's my fault: apparently, I have abused the clutch. 37 years of trouble-free driving and suddenly, I have started driving like a moron.
Yesterday I took the car (with the new clutch) down to the dealership, having told them that - again - I wasn't happy with how it handles. Frankly, it's like driving a cow. If you've ever been behind a herd of coos in the west of Scotland, you'll know what I mean: ungainly, pretty slow to react and quite noisy. It also smells.
They sent me out on a test drive - in my own car - with a guy from the dealership. I pootled along Haggs Road and, before long, the garagiste was concerned. I drive too fast, he said. I go up the gears too quickly. I seem to think I'm still in an 1800cc car. He told me a story about how people, (that seemed to mean 'women') as they get older tend to get into bad driving habits, and they abuse the clutch. I found it hard to take all this in. Well, I was driving, ffs. But then he took the wheel. I promise you there was no difference between my driving and his, except that he drove very, very s-l-o-w-l-y. I got very quiet then, thanked the man back at the dealership and drove off thinking - yet again - he would never dare to talk to a man like that.
I haven't changed my driving habits since I got this Polo. I was taught to drive by Archie Gillespie on Islay - the man who turned up one day for my lesson with a screwdriver in his hand saying: 'If you don't use the rear view mirror, I'll just unscrew it.' 37 years later, I still use the rear view mirror.
This isn't over.
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