Last week, we purchased a new car for hubby. Well, new to
us. It had 15,000 miles on it, which put the make, model and year we at long last narrowed our choices down to, in a range we could afford. We felt good about the deal.
Today, I'll spare you most of the sordid shopping details, aside
from the One Thing I really want to
talk about, which I shall do later. Suffice it to say that on numerous
occasions, our (hubby and I together,
to use the word loosely) car buying experiences have been so horrendous, and so
funny (in hindsight), that I've sold several stories about the hysterics and
drama, the wars and compromises, the song that might best be titled I Left My Spouse at the Car Dealer Blues. If one of us likes it, the other doesn't. Exasperating is the word that comes to mind. I'm told couples can relate.
Having said all of that, we drove happily home in a 2011 Toyota Avalon Limited. (Factoid: the average age buyer for the Avalon is 64.) For two people who qualify for all senior
discounts, not just some, we found the Sizzling Crimson Mica color quite
exotic. It goes well with our cement driveway and the earrings I wore the day
we signed the papers. Su-weet!
We traded in George's 2001 Buick LeSabre with 122,000+
miles. He loved that car; it served us well. My car, a 2003 Lexus RX300, has
nearly 120,000 miles on it. We bought it used in 2003 with 5000 miles. I'm still in a love affair with my black comfy beauty. Both the
LeSabre and the Lexus ran well, but we decided it was just time to up one,
especially since we have a couple long trips in front of us, so we picked the oldest
vehicle for our farewells.
I'm sure the Avalon's tricked out Navigation System will
come in handy since we love to travel back roads. We adore the hands'-free
functions, as well as the bazillion other fancy things the car offers,
including reclining back seats and a back-up camera. It's HUGELY roomy.
Whatever you need, we have a button for that. As soon as we figure them out and
stop turning on our windshield wipers instead, life will be grand. The Avalon's
ride is amazing. Street noise is missing. (Nice!) The same day we picked it up,
we drove to Minnesota
But none of that is what I really want to talk about today. When we
were signing the papers—literally—something struck in my craw, and I can't seem
to get over it. Perhaps it's because
I'm a seasoned traveler. But before I deliver the craw-sticker, let us recap:
we dropped a bucketload of money on a new-to-us car, purchased at a Toyota
"Seriously? These are the pens you give people to sign contracts?" I said this out loud, volume slightly up, without a trace
of humor in my voice because I felt none. I didn't sound angry, mind you, but …
serious.
"Hey, they were free," the guy said with a smile,
thinking this was all in good fun.
"This is pretty tacky." Again, no smile from me. "It's just wrong to hand these to your Toyota
"What kind of pen do you want?" he asked, now sounding
confused, perhaps slightly offended himself, which I'm sure I sounded by now.
"One that doesn't say Hilton HHnors™ on it. Maybe one that says
Toyota
"Those disappear," the guy said.
"You mean the same way these pens disappeared from your
hotel room? They're advertising.
They're supposed to disappear."
By now, the guy figured out I was not kidding, about any of
this. He commandeered the Hilton pens and swapped them out for what he called
the "plain Bic pens with no character."
"Good," I said. "That's much better." At last, I
smiled.
For the record, I am a proud Hilton HHonors™ member, and likely already have a bunch of said pens here and there and everywhere in my travel bags. And my husband and I didn't keep the plain Bic pens,
which we weren't offered to keep anyway. To be honest, I don't need another pen
and likely wouldn't have taken it unless the person handing us the pens would
have said, "By the way, keep the pen, maybe in your car. It has our phone number
on it in case you ever need to call."
Since this episode, my husband has brought up the topic with
every friend we've visited. "And she didn't have a trace of humor in her
voice," he says. "She wasn't kidding." I can never decide
whether he's more amazed by the Hilton pens, or my strong objection to them.
(Pause two minutes here while I ask. I can't believe I haven't asked before
this!)
I called a quick kitchen-table meeting and made my query. George's response, "I was surprised this bothered you
so much. I mean, I'll admit it was strange to be handed Hilton pens, and you
could have mentioned it. But maybe you didn't need to sound so … demeaning about it."
In all honesty, since he said that, I feel a little
embarrassed. It was surely not my intent to demean the guy! Talk about tacky and disrespectful,
Charlene! But I did want to make a point: in business, small things matter. Toyota makes a good product. The sales'
team (and of course their managers) had worked hard to give us a quality experience and seal the deal. Why ruin it with a final tacky action? Come to think
of it, I guess it felt kind of demeaning, to use George's word of the day, to be handed
some guy's chewed pen from one of his hotel rooms, a feeling which is perhaps what
set me off. I mean, go ahead, collect the hotel room pens, dude. Just don't hand them
to your Toyota customers.
But now, I'm curious: am I the odd one here? Barring my
apparently insensitive response to the guy's tacky chewed pen offering (okay, it still
grinds me), what do you think? Should this kind of traveling business detail
matter? Say if American Airlines handed you a pen with Fairfield Inn and Suites printed
on it to sign your credit card purchase for first-class tickets, would you even take notice?
Please weigh in with a comment. Help save a marriage. (Just kidding. Seriously.)
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