Would you buy a car from this used car salesman? Or . . . Hell On Wheels Down Under!

Nobody asked me, but . . . 

I gotta share with you a recent auto dealership experience.  And being in the car biz for as long as I have, I’ve had plenty . . . good and bad. I’ve met lots of dealers.  Some of them are terrific people and I count them as good friends.  Others . . . well, not so much.

When I Goggled “definition of a used car salesman,” here are the top listings among the About 3,210,000 results (0.40 seconds) found for me:

noun. (pl. used-car salesmen) (British English) a man whose job is selling cars that have already had one or more owners. Used-car salesmen are often presented in jokes, cartoons, etc. as not very honest or reliable.

Another top choice: one who attempts to get you to buy a lemon; sometimes, the car they want you to buy doesn’t even run.

The British television character Arthur Daley is regarded as a typical used-car salesman, i.e. confident and friendly, but dishonest and not very successful. Opponents of US President Richard Nixon used to show his picture with the words, ‘Would you buy a used car from this man?’ suggesting that he could not be trusted.

Even the depiction of a used car salesman in photos and cartons is typically uncomplimentary. 

So the expression “buyer beware” is very appropriate.

Son, Kevin, and daughter-in-law, Jillian, recently became Australian residents.  Along the way to that happy, eventful day was their meeting in New York 10 years earlier where Kev worked at 30 Rock and Jill (No one in Australia has a name longer than one syllable.  LOL) was an editor at Glamour magazine.  They married five years ago, commuted to Manhattan from Hoboken, New Jersey, and packed up and moved Down Under to a Sydney suburb when Kevin received a great promotion.

During that time I’ve visited them twice, for about two weeks each time. On my first trip I arranged to borrow a Ford press car from their dealer Thompson Ford west of Sydney.  But I waited for a nearly a week before picking it up because I quickly learned that living in the suburb where Kevin and Jill resided came with a serious lack of parking.  I could have spent $35-$50 a night for municipal parking, but unless I could prove I lived in the area and had paid for the appropriate parking sticker, during the day I would have been playing moveable car about every two hours not to have gotten ticketed. I found the answer online: www.parkhound.com.au.  They are essentially the Airbnb of parking spaces in OZ.  I quickly found a nearby garage that charged only $35 a week.  

Kevin, who likes cars and has prize-winning skill behind the wheel, does not share his father’s passion for the auto biz, and because their apartment did not include a garage or parking space, and he and Jill lived within walking distance to most necessities, had access to mass transit and were only a Fast Ferry ride from Sydney, they didn’t need a car.  When necessary, an hourly rental worked perfectly for their needs.

But things changed in a hurry. The apartment they were living in got sold, and the one bedroom flat they found almost immediately became too small when Jill announced she was pregnant with their first child.  So they had to look for other housing.

In the meantime, Jill who is an extremely talented interior decorator saw her business (unabashed free plug: Jillian Dinkel Designs; www.jilliandinkel.com) begin to grow exponentially, requiring her to take meetings in out-of-the way places that required a car . . . and a car seat for the baby.  

So one Irvine, California afternoon I get a FaceTime call from Kevin explaining his and Jill’s expanding circumstances and horizons and asking for my advice on Aussie wheels.  They had pretty much decided on a small crossover, had a short list of vehicles they were considering and were unsure whether they would buy new or used.  

That new/used comment sent my red flags waving. So like any good automotive industry dad I told them that if they were considering a used car they needed to go to an authorized dealer, look only at CPOs (Certified Pre-Owned cars), get an independent inspection just to be double sure, check the car’s history using the Australian equivalent of Carfax and seriously consider purchasing an extended warranty.

So when Kevin and Jill called me a few weeks later telling me they had purchased a 2013 BMW X3 and emailed me copies of the NRMA (National Roads and Motorists’ Association) independent inspection report and their extended warranty agreement, I congratulated them on their excellent choice.  Oh, they also asked if my wife and I would be interested in an extended vacationin OZ, say for three months, to help out with the new Kid on the Block and their expanded business careers.  Of course we said yes, my consulting business allowing me to work anywhere I can plug in my trusty Mac laptop and iPhone. (But the nightmareishly slooooow internet speeds Down Under are grist for another story.)

When the three Statesiders (we were joined by Kevin’s sister who had arranged to take two weeks vacation for bonding time with Delilah May) arrived at Sydney airport on the shortest day of the year, Kevin was there to haul us and our luggage back to his new place.  I jumped into the left front passenger seat of their BMW to the sounds of squishy carpeting covered in a white towel.  

“What’s this all about,” I asked.  

“The windshield leaks.” was Kevin’s succinct reply.  “Every time it rains the water pours in.”

“What does the dealer say,” I questioned?  

“We’ve told him.  The car came with a three-month warranty from the dealer.  I was hoping that was one of the things you could help with.  I work a 10-hour day, Jill has a growing business, the new baby has required special care and attention, Jill has been overseeing the rehab of our new place and on top of everything else, much of what we owned had to go into storage when we downsized to a smaller apartment, and we lost everything when a fire swept thorough the storage unit.  I can’t miss work to get the car to service.  And they aren’t open on weekends.  And Jill can’t do it with an infant.  And, by the way, the battery keeps discharging.  We were stranded twice and had to call road service before I got smart and bought jumper cables, which I carry in the car all the time now.  So we’ve had a pretty rough time . . .”

I’d say.

And it was at this point I innocently asked, “How can all this be happening to a CPO car that had an independent inspection?”

Silence.

It was at this point that the reality and enormity of the situation reached crescendo. “We didn’t buy from an authorized BMW dealer and it wasn’t a CPO car.   We couldn’t wait.  We needed a car and we went to a used car dealer in Parramatta.”  

I didn’t know Parramatta other than my two brief two trips to the Ford dealer, but I did know the words used car dealerwhen I heard them, and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.

“Sounds like you didn’t follow dad’s advice,” was all I could mutter.  “How long has this been going on,” I asked.

“Pretty much since we took delivery of the car,” Kevin replied.

“Well, I’ll check things out when we get to your place,” I said.

After a tour of the kids’ gorgeous new home, which Jill had totally redesigned and rehabbed to her architectural plans, and a quick bite to eat, I addressed the various car issues.

It was not a pretty sight.  It was rainy season Down Under and the BMW’s carpet was not only wet from the persistent rain, but also smelled of mildew.   When I turned on the HVAC system to help dry out the car, the windshield instantly fogged over.  Luckily, I was able to safely pull to the left side of the road and turn on the defrosters and AC full blast. It took about five minutes for the windshield to clear enough to allow me to continue driving.

When I returned from my test drive, I parked the car in the driveway.  About 20 minutes later I went outside to retrieve the owner’s manual and other documentation and I heard what sounded like a fan running.  It was loudest at the wheel wells, and when I popped the hood, I could tell it was coming from the lower, front of the engine.  I tried crawling under the front, but the car is too low, and it has a complete under carriage cover extending from the front bumper to beyond the firewall for reducing aero drag, so I couldn’t pinpoint the source of the noise.  I asked my son if he’d previously heard the noise.  He said, “No.  I haven’t. But I had no reason to listen by the wheel wells.”

I suggested that most engines have a thermostat-controlled fan that continues to run after the engine is shut down if the coolant is above a certain temperature.  But that fan wasn’t running.

Then I remembered the 2-liter BMW is turbocharged. In the early days of turbos there were constant issues with turbo failures caused by heat buildup from the exhaust side of the turbo.  While the engine was running, the turbo bearings are cooled by oil.  But oil flow stops when the engine is shut down, and the stagnant oil would fry, and coke would form on the bearings.  In the old days, automakers recommended the owners of turbo models let their engines idle for a few to several minutes before shutdown to cool the bearings.  Today, turbos are a lot more common and they are equipped with thermostatically controlled circuits to cool the bearings. Could this be the noise I was a hearing? Could this be the cause of the battery draining?

Then I made a discovery that was akin to a sneak attack punch to the gut.  While I was listening at the wheel wells, I noticed a slight difference in the lettering on the front tires compared to those on the rears. The sidewalls of the rear tires said Dunlop Maxx Sport GT, but the fronts said Dunlop Maxx Sport.  I remembered from the independent NRMA inspection that Kevin had requested, that the box stating: front tires need to be replaced because of excessive tread wearhad been checked.   And on closer inspection I realized what the dealer had done.  He had replaced the worn run flat tires at the front with similar but conventional used radial tires.  When I questioned my son about the dissimilar tires front and rear he said, “Dad, I had no idea.  I trusted the dealer when he said he had replaced the tires.” 

Truth be told, I’d bet that only one person in a thousand would have had the background and experience I have with tires to have caught the difference.  Or, in this case, the interest.  The differences were virtually undetectable.  Even the tread patterns were virtually identical.  But on close inspection, I realized the fronts did not have the markings indicting a run flat tire and there were other subtle differences.

“Did the dealer tell you he had created an unsafe driving condition when he mixed run flats and conventional radials,” I asked?

“No, what do you mean,” Kevin asked?

“The steering, braking and overall handling characteristics of your BMW are adversely affected by what the dealer did.”

“Did the salesman tell you that a tire pressure monitoring system (TPMS) is critical to run flat safety?  Run flats have very stiff sidewalls and you can’t tell when they’re deflated.  The advantage of run flats is that you don’t have to stop on the side of a busy road if you get a puncture and repair or replace the damaged tire with the spare as you would with conventional radials. You can drive 50-80 miles on a totally deflated run flat tire, allowing you to safely drive to a repair shop to get the tire repaired or replaced.  But the TPMS won’t work properly when run flats and conventional tires are mixed.  You could drive your BMW to the point of catastrophic tire failure without realizing you had a problem.” 

“No, he never told me that either.” 

“What about a spare tire,” I asked?  “Another advantage of run flats is you don’t need a spare tire or a jack and tools. And you get some extra cargo space as a bonus.  But these items are critical with conventional radials.  Did he give you a spare tire and tools?” 

“I don’t know.  I had no reason to check.”  

But I did.  And I did.  Nothing.  Zero. The BMW had no provision for changing a tire.

At this point I was livid.  If the salesman had been standing next to me when I made these discoveries I would have throttled him with the charging cables stowed in the cargo area.  He had placed the lives of my son, daughter-in-law and newborn in serious jeopardy having sold them a vehicle that he knowingly and willingly knew came with serious hiddensafety defects.

Why?  It was obvious.  His sales commission was more important than the lives of the customers he sold cars to. And I began to wonder: How many other buyers had this salesman and his dealership duped in a similar manner? How many other unsafe cars are running around on Australian roads because of this salesman’s and his dealer’s callous actions obviously conceived and planned with malice of forethought? Just to make an extra buck.  The thought is downright criminal.

I called the salesman the next day.  The call went as I expected.  He used all the classic salesman toolsto attempt to intimidate me into submission:  Friendly on the outside initially . . . until he sized up the fact that he was speaking to someone who knew more than he did.  Lots more.  And suddenly there was an accusatory, defensive, angry tone to the conversation.   To my question: “How were they to know that you had created a serious safety condition when you installed conventional radials up front and never bothered to inform them of this fact?” he said that he had sold Kevin and Jill a car that was completely roadworthy and that was his only obligation.  He said he was not required to match the run flats at the rear with run flats at the front. It wasn’t a safety issue. And to my discussion about the fact he had failed to inform the new owners of his actions and how were they supposed to repair a conventional radial tire problem without a spare tire, a jack or tools, he replied with a now familiar refrain: “I didn’t have to tell them.  That car is completely road worthy. They could purchase those items if they wanted or needed to.”

He then made a statement that boggled my mind: “It is the customer’s obligation to determine if a car he purchases is safe.” With that, I knew any further conversation on the subject was useless but informed the salesman, who refused to provide his last name or the names of any of the dealer principals (He, obviously, didn’t have any principles.), that I was demanding he replace the front tires with run flats identical to the rears and to ensure the TPMS was functioning properly.

He argued: Why did you wait so long to inform us of these issues?  To which I matter-of-factly replied: The car came with a three-month warranty from your dealership.  There’s nothing in the warranty that states the owner has to report all problems discovered by any specific date.  They could be reported on the last day and you would still be responsible for coverage. And, also, the extended warranty my son purchased will not cover pre-existing problems with the car.  That’s your responsibility.  You were hoping that none of these issues would be discovered. But unfortunately for you and your dealership, someone who saw through your reprehensible actions got involved. With that the conversation ended.

I followed up the next day with a formal email list of the issues that the dealer needed to address.  And the email bounced back as undeliverable, the message stating: The email account that you tried to reach does not exist. 

So I had to call the dealer and again talk to the first-name-onlysalesman who admitted that the email address shown online didn’t function.  But he provided his email address at the dealer, adding, “but I don’t check email very often . . .”

My email listing the car’s problems generated a phone call to my son giving him the address of the facility where the car would be serviced, which was not the address of the dealer but of a company about 30 minutes away.  

My son and I drove the BMW to the service facility after he received permission to work late for the time he would miss in the morning.  My son and I described the issues we wanted corrected to the mechanic.  And call it fate or coincidence, my son was able to demonstrate the issue with the fan staying on, including the curiosity of the fan being influenced, if only for a few minutes each time, when the keyless remote was operated to lock/unlock the doors.  

When I spoke to service later in the afternoon to gauge their progress, I was told that the battery was defective and needed to be replaced and that everything else but the tire issue had been addressed as authorized by the selling dealer. My son was told that he would have to deal with the salesman about the tires.

When I called, because my son was at work, I got the same run around as before with the dealer refusing to correct the unsafe tire situation.  

And the battery?  Kevin was told he would have to pick up the car from the service shop, drive it 20 minutes to the battery company, where they would verify that the battery was defective, and if it was, Kevin would be given a replacement battery, which he could provide to the servicing shop because the battery company didn’t do installs.  As I listened to all this, I started thinking I had moved to Bizarro Land.  Have you ever heard of an auto repair shop demanding the customer do this sort of leg work?   

We obviously refused, leaving the salesman to say: “Well, we’ll get to it when we have time.

I followed this conversation the next day with a strongly worded email to both the dealer and the service center, after which my son received a phone call from the owner of the service facility explaining that despite the similarly of names, the service facility was not owned by the dealership.  We hadn’t a clue. The salesman had refused to share any information about his company with us.  We made a wrong assumption.  The service facility merely performed repair work as a contractor to the dealership and as directed by the dealership.  And, by the way, the owner of the service wanted to make it clear that he had performed all work the dealership had requested and he could do nothing more until he received the new battery.

Finally, after eight days of silence from the dealer and continued threats from my son and I of taking the dealership to an Australian agency called Fair Trading, which is a strong advocate for consumers dealing with issues such as this one, the salesman called. The battery would be installed the following day.  The dealership also agreed to change the front tires . . . when they had the time to do so.  My suggestion to the dealer that the service center didn’t need the front tires to install and test the new battery so this could be done in parallel, fell on deaf ears. It took the dealer an additional five days to remount two tires.

The trip to Parramatta to retrieve the car from the dealership (It had been moved from the service facility.) was a logistics nightmare.  By car it was probably a 30-minute drive.  Mass transit required three buses, a 28-minute train ride and a 12-minute walk. Figure about 90 minutes.  Jill with a 2-month old in a pram accompanied by an additional two adults to assist Jill moving the pram into and out of the buses, trains and lifts, and to haul the two halves of the special infant seat used in the BMW.

When we arrived at the dealership, we had to use the service garage entry because the showroom was cloaked in darkness.  The salesman was not at the dealership, and the one service person who was there was unaware of the car or of her coming to pick it up.  And he was unable to provide any warranty info on the battery and tires or any paperwork detailing and supporting the repair issues we had described in an email to the salesman and which Kevin and I also discussed verbally with the mechanic when we brought the car in for service two weeks before.

After installing the car seat, I asked the service person who was present if I could borrow a tire gauge to check the tires pressures before we left. I’m glad I did.  All four pressures varied widely—some by 10 psi or more— and all were grossly inaccurate. 

But we finally had the BMW back and all was better with the world. Next day, first thing, I washed the car because it was filthy.  Guess what. When I opened the front passenger door, the carpet was soaked with water.  

Later that day, Jill drove the car to a meeting and returned. About three hours later I happened to walk past the car and guess what I heard.  The same fan was running.  The new battery hadn’t solved anything.  It was simply the sacrificial Band-Aid to an electrical issue left unresolved. Two weeks in service and we were dealing with the same issues.  I immediately got on the phone to two of the consumer agencies I had been dealing with. Both, independently, agreed that I should take the car to a certified BMW dealer for service.

I wrote an email to the salesman, detailed all the issues that were still unresolved and told him I was taking the car to BMW for service and that I would charge back to him all the costs I incurred.  

END PART 1.  STAY TURNED FOR PART 2, AS THE PLOT THICKENS AND QUICKENS AND I POSE A QUESTION: WHAT THE HECK IS AN AUSTRALIAN COL?