Friday, April 16, 2010


Having spent twenty eight years of my adult life selling cars for a living I’ve had many life experiences while working ten hours a day, six days a week, at my profession. Most of them have been good, but there have been some things that have even caught me off guard and being gay in the straight mans world of car sales isn’t easy either. Even if you don’t tell them they always whisper behind your back.

We’ve all heard the story about the old man in coveralls needing a shave who went into the Cadillac dealership in the 1950’s, 1960’s or 1970’s, in whatever city in the U.S. you want to make it and was turned away by an arrogant Cadillac salesman because he wasn’t dressed just right. So he went down the street to the Lincoln dealership and paid cash for a new Lincoln with money from an old brown paper bag. It’s what we now call an “Urban Legend” so it really doesn’t matter when it was, or what kind of car it was, I still hear that story today, although these days it’s always about a Mercedes, BMW, or Lexus dealership. Our status symbols may have changed, but the story remains the same all these many years later.

I’d like to say it really doesn’t matter how you dress, but that isn’t true. You don’t have to wear a three piece suit or designer dresses, but use a little common sense. While it’s nothing today to sell a Porsche so people wearing shorts, jeans, tennis shoes, or kakis, in fact it’s more common than someone dressed to the teeth. I’m always suspicious of over dressed people trying to purchase an expensive car. They’re either trying to impress you, or they’re trying to pretend to be something they’re not. People who actually have money never brag about having money. I know multi millionaires who dress in kakis and sport shirts who act just like you and me.

I had a man and his son get out of a truck in front of the Porsche dealership in Fort Worth and run right over to the used cars. When I greeted him he said, “Man these cars sure cost a lot of money.” I agreed, and told him they were all hand built and retained extremely good resale value. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” I asked. He said, “Yeah, I want a new 911 Turbo Convertible with an X50 package.” I immediately took him to the only one we had, which had a sticker price of over one hundred and fifty four thousand dollars. He asked me, “Can I buy it for a hunerd forty eight thousand?” I said, “No Sir.” He then asked, “Can I buy it for a hunerd fifty thousand?” I said, “No sir.” He asked, “Well, What can I buy it for?” I looked at the window sticker, deducted fifteen hundred dollars and told him he could buy it for that plus tax, title, and license. He said, “Well how much is that?” I said, “Let’s go inside and I’ll figure it up for you.” Once inside I gave him the total and he asked to borrow my phone while he called his banker and had the money wired into the dealerships account. While he and his son went to lunch I got the car ready for delivery. It was funny because I knew he was just trying me with his poor mouth act just to see how I’d treat him.

He didn’t know that I’d started selling cars in Midland when I was twenty one years old and not being from Midland I didn’t know the moneyed names from any one else. So I never judged a book by its cover. The old rancher with cow manure on his boots was more likely to come in and write a check for a new Cadillac with an old folded check he’d been carrying around in his wallet for months than some fancy dresser.

My favorite story about Midland happened one afternoon in 1978 when I noticed a young couple with two little boys in front of the showroom looking at a new Seville the most expensive car we sold at the time. I looked at my watch and it was 4:30 PM we closed at 6:00 PM and it had been a slow day, so I decided I was going out and practice on this young couple. I was bored and had nothing better to do.
I greeted them and they seemed shy and somewhat stand offish. It took me a few minutes to get them to even agree to let me go back into the showroom and get the key to open it up for them. Once I opened the car I got them to sit inside to show them things like the stereo, the astro roof, the power seats, the climate control, etc. Then I used a trick I’d been taught even though they said they didn’t want to test drive the car I got them to shut the doors and I put the car in reverse and backed it out and onto the street before they could protest. Once we were on our way it wasn’t long until I had the man behind the wheel driving us back to the dealership. They liked the car and I got them into my office to discuss what they wanted. The man asked what the car would cost if it were ordered with just the standard equipment. The lady said, “What? You mean I can’t order anything extra on it? Then why bother?” It seemed they were about to have an argument, so they asked for a brochure. I got their information and they piled the kids in their car and drove off. After they left I looked at my watch and it was a quarter to six. I was pleased that I’d put my practice time to good use and it was almost time to go home. As I walked passed my manager’s office he asked, “Well, what did you have Sam?” I said, “Oh I don’t know, they were a nice young couple, but I don’t think they can really afford a Cadillac.” He asked, “What were their names?” I looked at the three by five cards in my pocket and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Carl Bain.” He just grinned and started to laugh. I asked, “What?” and he said, “Do you know that building downtown that has BSA on the side of it, with the heliport on top?” I said, “Yes.” He said. “Well the B stands for Bain and Carl Bain owns Ferrari’s.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. Carl not only ordered a beautiful Basil Green Firemist 1979 Cadillac Seville from me for his wife, but he bought company cars from me for years to come. So I learned at an early age never to judge a book by its cover.

But some things have changed in the past thirty years, people now dress to a new low. I can honestly say I have never sold a car to a guy wearing a baseball cap backwards, nor have I ever taken one seriously. It makes them look like their about to give someone a blowjob. I once had a woman come in with a tight white tank top to apply for a job around 1980. She would bounce up and down and say, “My name is Peeper, my name is Peeper”, while her tits bounced up and down. All I could think of was taking a magic marker and drawing two eyes on her boobs. I’ve had over weight guys come in with their wife’s wearing tank tops, the men, not the women, with their nipples pierced, while the tank top kept getting stuck on their nipple ring right out there for the world to see, who wants to look at that shit? Once in 1988 a guy wearing a huge gold and diamond barbell on a chain around his neck that was some kind of body building award came in to look at a new Cadillac in Plano while wearing very tight sweat pants and sporting an erection the whole time and not a very impressive one at that. Once in 1979 I had a guy call me away from his wife who I was showing features to while she was sitting behind the steering wheel of a new Oldsmobile because he said he couldn’t figure out how to use the manual recliner on the passenger seat. I walked around to his side of the car he was wearing the kind of shorts that were popular at the time like the ones you see John Ritter wearing on reruns of “Threes Company” white, tight, and very short. He pretended to be having a hard time with the lever and had one leg in the car and the other on the ground as I walked around to the passenger side of the car and squatted down I looked up and his hairy nuts were hanging out of his shorts twelve inches from my face. Don’t tell me he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. I said, “If you’ll put both your feet in the car it’ll work easier.” Suddenly it worked like magic. When the new 1977 Oldsmobile’s came out in the fall of 1976 I opened the door of a beautiful elegant 1977 Oldsmobile Brougham Coupe with velour upholstery. This man looked me right in the eye and said, “Wow! How’d you like to get naked and go riding around in that?” I just grinned and said, “Well that might be fun, wouldn’t it?” I didn’t know if it was just a thought, or if he was asking me for a date. He was pretty hot, so I was willing to take him up on his offer if he’d been serious.

I had a married father of five children try to kiss me in the front seat a new Cadillac at an auto show. I could smell the vodka on his breath and as I turned away he licked on my right side of my face. In 1977 I had a well known Midland pediatrician rest his chin on my right shoulder on the showroom floor while I was behind the wheel of a new Desert Rose Firemist 1977 Cadillac Seville as I was telling him about the automatic headlights whose controls were to the left of the steering column. “Mmmm, you smell good. What kind of cologne are you wearing?” He asked. “Did I show you the trunk?” I asked, as I opened the door and got out. At least he brought his wife in and bought her the car the next day. One young guy insisted on holding my hand in the front seat while on a test driving a new Sedan De Ville while his wife was in the back seat holding a four week old baby.

Ladies looking at your cleavage may be nice for straight guys, but it’s not going to get you a better price, not with me anyway. I’ve had women pinch me on the ass as I was bending over to pull a hood release, cry on my shoulder, and I mean cry, scream, bawl, and claw their faces about their mean ex husbands who were screwing them out of their well earned fortunes on a test drive, rub my crotch, women and men, pinch my nipples and one married man who wanted to go on test drive in a car that was exactly like the one he had in the service department, but he didn’t want to drive it. I found out why when he crawled into the floorboard on the passenger side and started giving me a blow job as I drove slowly through a residential area. Imagine my horror when I got back and one of the salesmen pointed to the milky white stains around the zipper of my navy slacks and busted out laughing. “I’ll bet that was a fun test drive!” he said.

I guess my point is this. “What do you think you’re doing? Are sales people pieces of garbage that have to put up with whatever abuse you decide to deal out? I compared stories with a pretty female sales lady in her late twenties one time. She told me she had to put up with the same things, but whatever it took to sell a car including holding a seventy five year old man’s hand while his wife was waiting in the showroom, or playing with his limp marsh mallow dick just to make a sale, she was willing to do it. She just didn’t consider it a big deal. I suppose we could throw a fit and file charges against you, but what would happen? We’d be fired by our greedy dealers who’d believe you before they’d believe us especially if a ten cent profit were involved.

Here’s another thing I can’t understand about people these days that differs from thirty years ago. If you’re fat and it seems sixty five percent of women and men these days are, don’t try and wear it as a badge of pride, cover it up with a moo moo, or wear a girdle, no one wants to see that shit. Stretch pants, or jeans, don’t cut it when you’re a size twenty six. If your ass and thighs look like two pigs in a sack fighting to get out, or like cottage cheese, find a way to camouflage them. I don’t care if you’re “Large and in Charge”, or think you’re a “Sexy Mama”. Don’t try and squeeze your “Circus Maximus” fat, gelatinous, ass, into the seat of an Aston Martin, or a Porsche that you can’t possibly fit in, or afford.

I had a couple come in to the Aston Martin dealership in Dallas once and nice as they were, I could tell by what they were driving and how they acted that they couldn’t have afforded a tire on one of those cars. She had a huge ass, a huge one. I don’t even know how she found form fitting jeans to cover it. She had on a giant afro wig and three inch glittered eyelashes. I was being polite as I opened doors on cars for her to sit in and the manager was mad as hell with me because I’d even buzzed them into the showroom in the first place. I honestly don’t know how she was able to fit in the cars as I closed the doors. I hoped it would make her uncomfortable, or hurt her butt and she would want to get out immediately. Her boyfriend kept saying “Oh, baby you look good in dat, oh yea baby, you look good in dat.” “Nnnnot dat you don’t look good anyway baby, but you really look good in dat!” I thought the tires were going to explode. She wouldn’t have looked good in anything if we’d all been Ray Charles, or Stevie Wonder.
These days you have underage kids coming into the showroom wanting to test drive cars. Many of them are under twenty one, but they want to drive a one hundred and forty thousand dollar Porsche and get mad when you tell them they can’t. It isn’t “Six Flags” or “Disneyland” at least they have an admission charge. If you can’t afford something don’t ask to drive it. The cars aren’t there for your entertainment they are for legitimate customers to buy. For God’s sake and your own self respect treat sales people like human beings, God knows their managers and dealers don’t. Try not to be rude or condescending sales people are human beings just like you keep your hands to yourselves and if you can’t afford something don’t go pretending that you can. I’d much rather have someone look at a car and say, “Wow, that’s way out of my price range.” Than someone looking at a window sticker and saying, “That’s ridiculous! I would never pay that for a car!” What do you think that tells a sales person? You can’t afford it buddy.

I remember once getting a call in the early nineties at a Cadillac dealership in Dallas where the lady said she had been on the lot that Sunday and noticed that the new Sedan Deville’s were listing for around thirty thousand dollars. She wanted to know if it was unreasonable of her to think that she could buy one for fifteen thousand dollars. Well, this was one of those skanky dealerships where they recorded the phone calls and you never knew when they were going to set you up. More dealers do it now than ever before, for “quality control”. So, I decided to have a little fun with her. I asked her in my sweetest voice, “Oh, did you want to finance fifteen thousand dollars on a new Cadillac? That would really make your payments low.” She said “No.”, and explained herself again. I said,”Oh, you want to put down fifteen thousand dollars on the car, well that would still make your payments very low.” She said “No.”, and explained herself again. I then said, “Oh you must mean one of our pre owned cars, we do have some of those for around fifteen thousand dollars, which year were you looking for?” She said “No.”, and explained herself again. I then asked her to tell me exactly where the cars she’d seen were located? Which side of the street they were on? Which part of the lot, etc? When I explained to her that she was on the new car side, and all the cars had window stickers with the MSRP around thirty thousand dollars, she said, “Yes, yes, yes.” By this time, I’d drug the phone call out to about fifteen minutes and she must have thought she’s gotten a hold of the dumbest salesman on the face of the earth, even I was getting tired of the conversation. I finally said, “Let me see if I understand, what you’re asking me is if it is unreasonable of you to think that you can buy a brand new Cadillac that list for thirty thousand dollars for fifteen thousand dollars?” She sounded so relieved that she’d finally gotten through to me, “Yes, that’s what I’m asking”. I said “Yes mam that is unreasonable!” I wanted to say, “You stupid bitch, have you lost your fucking mind?”

I once went out to wait on two women in Midland looking at a new 1978 Coupe De Ville. The car probably listed for between twelve and thirteen thousand dollars at that time and one heifer tapped her fingernail on the glass at the price while digging at her teeth with a toothpick and said, “These cars are fifteen hundred dollars cheaper in New Orleans.” I said, “Mam, the window stickers come on the cars from the factory and if a car in Hawaii has the same equipment as a car in New York they’ll have the same MSRP.” She shook her head vigorously, tapped that lunch hook of hers on the window again and said, “No, these cars are fifteen hundred dollars cheaper in New Orleans.” I then said, “Maybe the car you saw in New Orleans had less equipment on it.” Again she said, “No, these cars are fifteen hundred dollars cheaper in New Orleans”. I said, “Well, I think I’d go buy it in New Orleans then.” and walked away. I learned years ago you can’t argue with drunks and fools.

Then there’s the “How much more will you come off if I pay cash?” I’ve had to grin and tell many people, “We don’t penalize you for paying cash, but we’d rather you financed it with us because we make a little money that way.” I can remember my grandfather in the 1960’s saying, “Yeah, I went down to the Buick house and paid cash for that Electra out there.” Most people aren’t actually paying cash anyway, they’re borrowing the money from their bank, or credit union.

I once worked for a dealer that was short on operating funds and about to close his doors. If someone paid cash for a car, he used the money to pay the employees and keep the lights on. The customer drove around for ninety days or longer without license plates because the car they’d paid cash for hadn’t been paid off at the bank. If they financed it then he registered it right away because that was the only way he could get his money from the lender. He was doing the same thing on extended warranties which in most cases will allow you up to a year to purchase one. When he finally closed his doors and lost his franchise he and his son were charged with fraud. Before it ever went to trial the dealership mysteriously burned to the ground. When TV reporters interviewed him for the local news he said, “There wasn’t anything in there but a bunch of papers.” Yeah, the paperwork that would have sent he and his son to prison for several years!

One of my favorites was a man who had always traded in his Porsche a few months before his lease was up. He was a doctor and he and his wife both thought way too much of themselves. He came into the dealership one day acting haughty and in a hurry and said, “I’m Dr. Stone, order me a new Targa in seal grey with a spoiler and call me when it comes in, my information is in your computers.” I noticed he was driving a two year old Targa, but he was so rude and hateful and in such a hurry I didn’t have the nerve to ask him if he was thinking of trading it in. When his new car arrived four months later he told me, “I’m leasing that Porsche and I always trade mine in early and get a new one.” I got it appraised and had to tell him “Well, I’ve got some bad news, and some good news. The bad news is that your payoff is twenty thousand dollars more than the car appraised for and you won’t be able to trade right now unless you want to put down a lot of money. The good news is that in eight months you won’t have to worry about it, and it it’ll be Porsche’s problem.” He got mad and threw a hissy fit and then his wife showed her ass and said, “My, this new showroom you built is certainly nice.” I said, “Well, thank you.” She said, “You’d better enjoy it, you won’t be here long!” I had to go into my sales manager’s office and shut the door because I was about to plant my fist in that cunt’s face! She’s the type who goes into jewelry stores and furriers before the holidays, buys items on credit, then takes them back after January all scratched up and cigarette burned after being worn to numerous parties and wants her money back because she decided they “weren’t suitable”. They went out and rolled all that negative equity into a new Mercedes Benz 550 SL. Boy, they sure showed me, fucking morons!

I remember back in the early 1980’s when GM started their roller coaster ride of interest rate incentives. I truly believe in my own heart that’s when GM started their downhill slide to bankruptcy. We would go ninety days with terrific interest rates and then ninety days with no incentives at all. When rates were low we were selling cars like crazy and couldn’t keep enough on the lots, but when rates went back up and inventory started to stack up the owner would run around screaming, “Don’t order any more cars, if another truck pulls up, I’m sending them back!”
That was when consumers learned if they waited long enough then GM would lower their interest rates once again. We sales people suffered because during the good times we thought we’d never have another poor day and when the sales stopped we couldn’t afford our dry cleaning. I had a lady who put a lot of time and thought into purchasing a new 1982 Buick Park Avenue from me. She picked out her car and gave me a deposit, but she wouldn’t take delivery because she was sure that GMAC was going to come up with lower interest rates any day. My dealer was having a fit because the car was just sitting there. I even called the GMAC office in Odessa and asked the manager if he’d heard any rumors of lower interest rates any time soon. This was early in the game and GM had gone longer than their ninety days without any special incentives. She drug it out for two weeks, but I finally got the lady to come in and take delivery on a Thursday afternoon. The next Monday while I was listening to the news on TV as I was shaving I heard, “GM announced today that it is lowering its interest rates.” I could have died. I was dreading that call when it came and of course she called me. To this very day I know that lady thinks I lied to her.

I once worked at a dealership where a salesman took a customer on a test drive in a brand new one hundred thirty eight thousand dollar 2004 Porsche Turbo convertible. I’d warned the salesman that I’d traded the car to a dealership in San Antonio and then he asked, “Where are the keys?” “In the manager’s office.” I said. When I saw him walking outside with the key, I asked, “What are you going to do with it?” “I’m going to move it around back” he said. I happened to look up just as the car was leaving the lot and I looked at the salesman standing in my office and asked, “Are they taking that car on a test drive?” He said, “Well that’s what it looks like.” I said, “I hope they total the son of a bitch. I’m so sick of Ray thinking he can do whatever he wants to around here!” We spent the next ten minutes discussing the “what if” scenario of the car being wrecked. About that time the customer and Ray walked in the side door. I figured they must have driven it around back while I was looking the other way. The customer must’ve thought I was the manager because he walked up to my desk and said, “I just totaled that car.” My heard raced as I wondered how they’d heard what we were talking about and I said, “Yeah right”, and laughed. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “No, I really did total it.” I looked at his face then at Ray’s and said something I would never normally say to a customer, “Your shittin me?” He said, “No, I really did.” I asked them where the car was and I told Ray he’d better try and get a hold of our manager who was on vacation in Florida as I grabbed the keys to a Cayenne. The other salesman and I drove over there. When we turned the corner and saw the car the salesman said, “Man, don’t you wish you’d saved that wish for the Lotto?” The customer had lost control of the car going around a traffic circle and drove it up and over a parking lot. It tore out the suspension, busted the engine block, deployed the air bags, roll bars, and bent the unibody. Thank God I wasn’t the salesman who took him on the test drive.

I worked for a “Pretend” luxury Japanese car dealership most recently. These are the cars where the Japanese place a new label on a cheaper car and stick on a little more “Goo Ga, Trash Flash and Disco Glitter” and then tack on thousands of dollars and dumb ass Americans eat it up. At the dealership the lot looked like a garbage dump, the black granite floors were worn down and dull, the cars on the showroom were filthy with dead batteries and the men’s restroom usually smelled like a three week old corpse was in there somewhere, even sales managers down wind from it had to get up and close their doors. A three hundred pound salesman was usually the culprit. His shit stunk so bad the smell would linger down the hall for hours. The tents outside to protect the cars from hail were rotten and collapsed. If you walked someone through the service department they might slip and fall in oil, transmission fluid, or grease and you could never tell what kind of language they might be subjected to by the mechanics. The new cars had door dings in them and warning lights were sometimes on in the instrument cluster. If I took the time to put the cars in the service department to have the problems corrected they usually disappeared into the “Twilight Zone” only to be discovered week’s later, sitting on the back lot uncorrected. As difficult as it was for me I got tired of hearing myself complain to the deaf ears of the sales managers and I finally gave up and developed the same attitude as every other person who worked there, who gives a shit, why bother? This dealer tried to come off as "Family First", which means their family who live in mansions, and on estates, not you, or your family, who they couldn’t care less about. They’d say things like, their customers are the most important people in the world to them. “Gag!” In real life they are out to screw you out of every last dollar you have while playing Christian music over the P.A. system. My recommendation is if you go into a dealership where they brag about their family values and play Christian music, or if your sales person has a bible or a cross on their desk run like hell! You are about to receive the fucking of your life. I worked for two dealerships that played the same Christian XM radio station over their P.A. systems and they were the most evil, heartless people, I’ve ever worked for. These people are exploiting Jesus Christ as a way to promote their own business and the only thing “Almighty” they care about is the dollar.

My last adventure there was a letter I wrote to the owner after I heard a salesman telling him in the break room how pleased he was with the guy who handled his cell phone service the day before. “If I had some kind of a service business I’d want that guy working for me” he said

“Really?” the owner said. “Yeah, he was a fag.” the salesman said. I asked, “How do you know Paul?” “Oh, I could tell by the way he talked” He said. That was the last straw for me.

Here’s the letter I send anonymously;

I feel it should be brought to your attention that you have an employee at your dealership Paul Smith, who appears to be against everything you stand for. Or perhaps it truly doesn’t matter if you are not indeed what you represent yourself to be. This is beginning to be the consensus of many of us. He seems impervious to any of the rules that pertain to the rest of your employees.
With the recent concerns about the dealerships policy regarding sexual harassment which we all know has been state and national law for several years now. He has been overheard by others to say many inappropriate things even to your office manager Diana.
“Me and my wife are gonna have another baby!”
“Oh really?”
“Well I’ve been practicing! Yuk, Yuk, Yuk!”
That’s just his way of talking dirty to the women who work for you. By tolerating such things she has opened herself up to litigation regarding the current policies of management being aware of sexual harassment, but she ignored it.
Using derogatory words and racial slurs for minorities, and women are things he does on a daily basis as if making over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year makes it acceptable. He was even heard saying “I just love pussy.” in Jeb’s office one day.
Paul also likes to relate all kinds of sexual escapades, whether real, or fictitious, about going down to Juarez and fucking some Mexican whore in the mouth and blowing the back of her head off with his load of cum, or some Juarez “Madam” washing his dick and balls while he’s screaming “Too much soap, too much soap!” because he’s about to ejaculate all the while acting out his stories with lewd hip gyrations and pelvic thrust pulling up his pants to accentuate his genitals. Then he dares to inject something about God, or Jesus, after telling such stories as if he just brought the story around to its real purpose. That’s like telling a story about Jews who were exterminated in the Holocaust and then saying “They lived happily ever after.”
Managers have been known to express their opinions of him by saying that he has no morals and no scruples, but he sells a hell of a lot of cars. Like that makes everything alright?
These are just examples of the stories he tells on a daily basis to anyone within earshot. He talks in a similar manner to his customers as well. He can be heard all through the day relating vulgar and disgusting stories down the hall of the sales floor with his loud mouth. Whether it is of a sexual nature, or how he has put an ignorant customer in their place. To him he is “The King!”
Is this the kind of image you want to represent you and your family? Or do you just not care because of the money? People are thinking it’s all about the money.
The managers are afraid of him and don’t even bother to say anything to him when he shows up at least two days a week without a tie. He does it on Fridays when he’s supposed to be off even if he spends the majority of the day at the dealership and he never wears one on Saturdays. When he knows you are away from the dealership he removes his tie. He’s even been seen going into your office without a tie and speak to you in person as if he’s saying, “Look, I even went to talk to the big boss and even he didn’t say anything.” When he walks around with his tie thrown over his shoulder it’s not for “Good Luck” as he says it is, it’s his way of giving you the finger! No one likes wearing ties, so if he’s so important to you then why don’t you just do away with the rules that the rest of us have to abide by?
He’s even been heard to brag about the fact when the new car salesmen complained about him showing up on yet again another Saturday without a tie and he made degrading remarks about their sales abilities and their laziness.
“I’ve even walked into the owner’s office and he didn’t say anything to me about it, so why should they whine and bitch about it?” “I wish I had the time to piss and moan about something like that, but I’m too busy selling cars.” He said.
Do you really think he’s so talented that if he left he would take all his customers with him? He’s even flaunted such things right in front of you and the fact that no one of authority says anything to him makes him feel empowered to say anything he feels like. He makes fun of other employees who choose to dress per dealership policy even to making fun of a black salesman by pulling his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and pretending to blow his nose on it right in front of you an owner and officer of the company and you never said a word. I even heard him telling you about the great customer service he got on his new cell phone and he said he would hire the guy who helped him in a heartbeat. When you expressed how nice that was he said, “Yeah, he was a fag.” When I asked him how he knew? He said he could tell by the way he talked. All of this was right in front of you and you let him get away with it. How do you think I felt about that as a gay man?
What do you think this says to the rest of the staff?
(1). I don’t have to play by the rules!
(2). I’m better than all of you!
(3). Management is afraid of me!
(4). The owners are afraid of me!
(5). I make so much money I can get away with anything I want and there isn’t anything you can do about it!
(6). I’m invincible and can’t be fired because this dealership would be nothing without me!
With the economy and sales being what they are these days, this is not a good morale booster for the other employees. People are sick and tired of it. If he doesn’t have to abide by the rules than why should we?
This is the opinion of your employees who are afraid to say anything for fear of being fired in retaliation for reporting him.

Needless to say they suspected me of writing the letter, so I wasn’t there much longer it’s just as well, I hated selling that those ugly cars anyway.

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