My first car

As a young man enters adulthood, he dreams about having his own "wheels". No longer dependant on friends, his parents or the bus schedule, his ability to roam is equivalent to the freedom to fly.

I was no different. Up to my ears in university debt, coupled with a low paying entry level job, I drove my motorcycle for two summers before crawling into deeper debt of a car loan. Pissed off that I was working everyday and all my friends had cars, I made the decision to buy one anyways.

My first car was a 1995 Honda Civic. It was a year old when I bought it. A cherry red, two door coupe, five speed manual transmission with spoiler and bug deflector made me feel like Michael Andretti downshifting into turns and revving the engine to 6000 rpm.

I drove that car for seven years and 325000 kilometres until my new bride convinced me that a car with four doors was more practical with the inevitable arrival of kids.

The car was awesome. But I discovered something more remarkable when I purchased it.

A young woman had purchased the car a year earlier. She no longer wanted it. The dealer was trying to help her get out of it so she could get something else. A big mouthed friend heard about the car and convinced me that this was the car I should buy.

So I drove an hour away, passing fourteen car dealerships to test drive and purchase this car.

In early 2003, it was time to find a new car worthy of my desires. My first starter Honda was so good, I wanted to upgrade to the next level. The adult car in the lot, the Honda Accords winked at me every time I drove by them.

I would drive into the lot, wink back and promise to one day test drive her.  In the summer, I made the decision to take her for a spin. Getting into the car, her leather smelled of good taste. Her smooth handling told me I was a great driver. Her colour made me feel rich. Sold on the car before a salesman said a word, I was ready to sign for another loan.

The sales guy unsold me. It wasn't the price. It wasn't the payment plan. It was the arrogance of not only the salesman but also other people who were working there. I wasn't going to give this company any of my money even though I knew I wanted this car.

I called up the Honda dealership an hour away. I told them the colour, model and year I wanted. The salesman told me he didn't have one in stock but he could trade with another dealer and would have the car by the end of the week.

At the end of the week, I drove happily an hour to pick up my new silver chariot. The car had 300 kilometres on it. My first NEW car!!! Why did it have so many kilometres? The car came from a dealership 3 hours away. When asked why they didn't trade with the dealer in my town, someone coughed and I heard a faint whisper of discontent.  I wasn't the only one who despised those guys.

The best part of my relationship with my Honda dealership was that I never had to negotiate on price of a new car. Early on, in my research, I used to put one dealer's price against the other. What I found was the squirrel dick dealership would make me work in the negotiation to get the best price. My preferred dealership wouldn't even negotiate. Their starting price was always lower than the best negotiated price of the squirrel dick dealership.

Since 1996, I have made the hour long trek four times to buy a new car. I always waste the squirrel dicks time by test driving his cars before driving an hour to buy. I never negotiate.  I never dicker. I accept the price as being the best price without question. The employees from 1996 are still there.

My salesman remembers my name, what I do for a living and the types of cars I own. In a world of faceless interactions and purchases, my salesman takes the time to remember some simple things about me.

I've called there a couple of times and noticed that everyone from the service or parts guy to the owner may answer the phone. I'm pretty good with voice recognition. But this company is the only one I can't tell whom I talking to. They all sound the same. They all act the same. They all care for the customer the same.

This doesn't happen by accident. The owner, who has had very limited contact with me in 20 years, calls me by name each time I walk by his office. He remembers what I do, asks about my wife by name.

I'm sitting at McDonald's writing this because my car is in the Honda garage. As I was driving yesterday, the air conditioning stopped cooling. I had to pass by the dealership this morning on my way back home, so I decided to stop in.

The service guy, who was clearly already swamped with today's orders stopped what he was doing to talk to me. He promised to push my service to the front of the queue so I could get back home. Then he told me the problem was under warranty. The salesman gave me a brand new car so I could eat breakfast.

Why would I ever buy from the dip shits who want to treat me like another pain in the ass customer when I can drive an hour out of my way, spend my time and gas money to get treated like a respected person.

There are two types of customers: relational and transactional. The relational customers are looking for meaningful relationships with the brand. The transactional customer cares little about the relationship and mostly about the deal.

If you treat relational customers like a transaction, you'll disrespect them and they will divorce your brand. Relational customers represent 20% of your customers but 80% of your traffic. Losing a customer is never good, but losing a relational customer is equivalent to losing four transactional customers.

At face value, you may not tell the difference between the two, so it is extremely important to treat them all like relational customers.

Cumberland Honda is the only dealership I have ever purchased a car from. I love them as much today as I did on July 10, 1996 when I bought that little red Honda Civic.