I test-drove a 1991 Honda Accord recently, and liked the ride and the flawless leather interior. I took it to a mechanic, who pronounced the car to be in excellent condition. Yesterday I met with the salesman to settle on a price.

I hate to haggle. I like things with set prices, like double cheeseburgers at McDonald's -- if you're willing to spend 99 cents, you can have a double cheeseburger. Otherwise, go somewhere else. Used cars aren't priced like that. Oh, they have a sticker price, but everybody who pays the sticker price ends up in the Gullible People Hall of Fame. The real price is kept secret, like the formula for Coca-Cola, and the only way to uncover it is to execute a series of complex social transactions. I fear complex social transactions. So I promised The Negotiator* a free lunch at Swing Thai if he helped me bargain with the used-car salesman.

Everybody needs a Negotiator friend. When I was in high school, The Negotiator was a skinny guy named Eck. Every year, a group of us guys would pool some money to buy a dilapidated van, which we would decorate with witty slogans like "Don't Laugh, Your Girlfriend Might Be Inside," and drive in the Homecoming parade. So every September we would stand around in a dusty used-car lot outside of town and watch Eck go toe-to-toe with a fat guy who had DWAYNE on an oval patch on his shirt -- the same kind of guy who intimidates me to this day. Eck and Dwayne would dicker for a while, and then Eck would shake his head and walk away. "Let's go, guys," he would say. "This guy's not serious."

"Now, hold on a minute," Dwayne would say, clearly not believing the beating he was taking from this scrawny, acne-ridden 17-year-old. And we would always get a great price.

"Well, you could do that, Kilgore," you are saying. "Just decide how much you're willing to spend on this car, and start with a price well below that, and then you work upwards from there. If the salesman demands too much, you just walk away. There are dozens of used-car lots in Denver, right? So just walk away and let him know you're taking your business elsewhere."

I haven't had a car for two months. This Accord was a solid car, priced well below book value, and walking away would mean at least two more weeks of taking the bus to work, bumming rides from friends, missing work to drag cars to the mechanic... and for what? So I could face another slick, winking used-car salesman? No. I was not going to walk away from this car, and so I needed The Negotiator.

The Negotiator (also known as DK, who serves not only as my Negotiator friend but also as my friend who gets me into hot tubs with models) picked me up from work, and drove to the used-car lot. There we met the salesman, who appeared to have been pressed into salesman duty -- he wore a mechanic's shirt with PAUL on an oval patch.

I pointed out to Paul that while my mechanic had given the car a clean bill of health overall, it needed some minor repairs, and I was wondering...

"I can do that work for you at cost," Paul said quickly. "So that would be $(sticker price), plus $199.95 for preparation and handling, plus $105 for the repairs, plus $(taxes), so the total would be $(total)."

"Only a sucker pays sticker price," said The Negotiator. "Plus, we wouldn't feel comfortable paying extra for these repairs."

Paul said, "That Accord is in very good condition..."

"Sure. There's a reason we're here," The Negotiator interrupted. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. "But you know that we want to get the best deal we can, and we know that you want to make a sale today. So we're sure you have some room to deal here."

I liked that The Negotiator was acting as if he and I were making the deal together, even if it made us sound like a gay couple. I envisioned Paul drinking with his mechanic buddies at the Candle Light Tavern, draining a pitcher of Coors Light and saying, "Remember those two guys that came in today? I bet the skinny one takes it in the ass from the mouthy one."

Paul left the room, saying he would stick his neck out and see what he could do on the price. The Negotiator grinned. "I could do this all day," he said.

"It gives me an ulcer," I said.

"Really?" said The Negotiator, as surprised as if I had confessed to not wanting a messy three-way with the Bush twins with the bound and gagged President and First Lady forced to watch.

Paul came back and dickered with The Negotiator some more while ignoring me completely. I peeked under my jacket and saw that sweat had darkened the underarms of my shirt. Finally I got a price under the sticker price, with the necessary repairs thrown in for free.

Thanks, Negotiator. Let me know if you ever need help on some calculus problems.

*"The Negotiator" shamelessly ripped off from the beautiful and alluring Trillian.

+posted by Lawrence @ 2/21/2004 11:55:00 PM