On Sunday I ran the Chicago Marathon. I've detailed some of my running adventures before here , but by some miracle I was able to actually complete the training program and show up to toe the line with runners from all over the world. The start corral was crowded, and I was surrounded by athletes who were barely able to contain their nervous energy. Among them were people I knew - friends I had made during my many months of training runs. There was Aaron, the University of Chicago researcher with his trusty water bottle strapped to his hand; Seth, with the amazing midwestern ability to shrug off any amount of discomfort; and of course, Melissa, a constant source of energy and conversation for the group.
These were just three of the friends that I had made over ten months of running endless miles on the Lakefront Trail in Chicago. All of us - all 33,000 of us - were there for different reasons. Some wanted to set personal records, some wanted to run for a cause, and others wanted to run for the memory of a loved one. My reason for being there was admittedly selfish - a desire to "check the box" on that great list of Life's ToDo's, and to prove to myself that I could conquer my distaste for running.
The marathon did not disappoint. I was amazed by the sheer number of physically fit people around me - so many that it took over 15 minutes for me to cross the start line once the gun went off. All I saw ahead was a sea of bobbing heads and wondered who all these people were that were willing to endure such a gruelingly long distance. I don't know if I figured out the answer to that question in the five and a half hours it took me to complete the course. However, along the way I did manage to amass a set of memories that I will treasure for a long, long time:
- Hearing the national anthem play while thousands of people stood in hushed silence. There was something about the melodious strains, the early morning light, and the sheer silence of the crowd around me that made it a very special moment.
- Crossing the start line, and telling myself, "this is it - I'm not giving up until I'm done, come hell or high water." Crossing that line was my way of looking my age in the eye and saying "bring it on."
- Running into my friend Mansi the first ten minutes into the race. She was there snapping pictures, and I couldn't believe that we found each other between all those runnners.
- Experiencing Chicago's beautiful neighborhoods. As with any big city, one spends time confined to well worn locales. Running the Chicago marathon helped me experience this city's streets and avenues in a wonderfully intimate manner. I know that I'll quickly go back to walking the city briskly, head down, and looking up only to check street names, but for the duration of the run I was able to admire the texture and grit of Chicago like never before.
- Running with my training buddies. We lost Seth around mile 6, but Melissa and I managed to run together for 21 miles. I could never have run the race were it not for the constant partnership of someone running beside me. And God bless Melissa for her own non-marathon friends, who were waiting on the sidelines every 10 miles or so. We somehow managed to find them every time, and we would all run together as a big group until they would bow out and a new group of Melissa's friends would join us. The constant supply of fresh legs and energy kept our spirits up, especially when the temperature started rising and our legs started to weigh a hundred pounds each. One of these runners proved to be my angel, and ran the last quarter of the marathon with me, egging me on the whole way. And just as I crossed the finish line, he melted away anonymously.
- The hilarious signs. From the witty ("Marathon, a 10k with a 20 mile warmup" and "2.62? WTF?!") to the political ("Amy, you're a better running mate than Palin.") My favorite by far was one about two thirds of the way through - "Sure it hurts now, but keep pushing through. It'll feel a lot better in the end (that's what she said)."
- The adoring crowds. Bless their souls, every one of them. Each neighborhood had its own flavor of spectators cheering us on. In Lincoln park there were teens with their bands on the street, playing "Eye of the Tiger", in Boystown there were drag queens and men in cheerleader costume ready to make us laugh, in the West Loop there were homeowners with garden hoses to cool us down, in Chinatown there were dragon dancers distracting us, and near Bronzeville there were people with candy, snacks and treats for the starving runners. But most memorable of all were the cheering crowds for the last few miles of the race. It was as if each one of them had a stake in my completing the race.
By the time temperatures hit 84 degrees on mile 24, I hit the proverbial wall. There was no energy left in the tank and lead was coursing through my veins. I was tired, hungry, and just about ready to stagger to the sidelines when a lady saw me slowing down. She immediately started yelling at me. "Don't you dare quit now! Don't you dare!" she yelled. "I can see the determination in your eyes - dig deep and find that energy. You WILL finish this race, and you WILL finish it strong. Don't you dare quit!" I don't get emotional much, but I started sobbing like a baby - it could have been my depleted physical and emotional state, but I didn't care. She was saying things that I need to hear, and from that point on, I resolved to lumber on.
- Finishing the race. Arms raised, looking like a fool, relishing every second of the experience. Yes it took me 45 minutes longer than I had expected, but I didn't feel so bad. Experienced marathoners that were pace leaders had succumbed along the way because of the sweltering heat, so I didn't care that my pace had slowed down. Yes I hadn't set any records, but I had proven to myself that I could run this distance. And yes, in the grand scheme of things this will matter little, but knowing that I had the willpower to set a goal and see it to the end meant the world. My wife and daughter were there to greet me, and for the second time that day I broke down. I hugged Saeeda tight and just wouldn't let go. I'm sure she thought it wonderful that this immensely sweaty and stinky lunatic was hanging on to her, but I couldn't stop squeezing her. It took a couple of almost incrompensible "thank you for letting me do this" sobs, and a few kisses before I was ready to peel off. And my baby was a little annoyed at being woken from her nap, but I didn't care. Her father, a world-class athlete, was holding her in his arms, and that's what mattered.
So much in life is centered around making things easy, or finding shortcuts. Running a marathon is a way of returning to the basics. It provides no privileges to the wealthy, and no breaks for the accomplished. All, wealthy and poor, are treated alike because no amount of kicking and screaming is going to lessen the distance from start to finish. No matter your station in life, all you need is a good pair of shoes, a trusty friend, and a healthy dose of ignorance for what convention says is possible. Beyond that, it's just a walk in the park.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
We're "those" parents now
Having a baby keeps one busy. No matter how hard I plead with Nuha every evening that I need to update my blog, she simply wails until I relent and agree to change yet another poopy diaper. Not only does she require 100% of our time, she demands that we service her with a smile. One day I'll make her pay me back. Maybe by embarrassing her in front of all her high school friends by showing to pick her up in a spandex Spiderman costume. That'll show her.
Saeeda and I spent the last week on vacation in LA. Saeeda had left two weeks ago, with her mom helping with the baby on the flight over. I joined the family later, spent a week in LA, and then we all returned to Chicago together. So the return trip was the first time I had ever traveled with an infant. It also marked the first time I became "that parent" with the baby who slows everything down.
See, in my past life I was a high-powered tech consultant, flying from city to city on a weekly basis. I was cool. I was hip. I knew which belt buckle to wear so that it wouldn't set off the detectors. I knew exactly which order to place my belongings for screening at the security checkpoint. Laptop in a bin by itself, followed by laptop bag, followed by my carry-on luggage, and end with shoes and jacket in another bin. This way I retrieved my most valuable belonging first, placed it back in the laptop bag as that came through, then put on my shoes and jacket before heading on my way. Less than 3 minutes start to finish.
Here's how things play out now. Saeeda and I struggle to squeeze the baby stroller through the narrow Disney-land lanes at the security checkpoint. We get to the screening area, then need to spend ten minutes disassembling the Transformer-like contraption that is the stroller (see my post here on how long it took me to assemble the damn thing). We then struggle with the diaper bag, which we don't realize has bottles of water in it for Nuha's milk. The water bottles need to be tossed, which takes some more fumbling. Starting to get embarrassed at how long this is taking, I simply start flinging stuff onto the belt for screening. I almost toss the baby into the x-ray machine before my wife stops my arm in mid-swing. My daughter looks at me accusingly ("hey, free x-rays!" I think to myself). I walk through the detector, only for alarms to go off because I haven't emptied my pockets. Embarrassed and defeated at having made such a rookie mistake, I step back and run into the passenger behind me so that I can sheepishly empty my pockets into a tray.
With our security screening adventures over, Saeeda and I make it to our gate and start boarding the plane. Now we have to navigate the narrow plane aisle in search of our seats while carrying Nuha in a baby seat. Nuha, suddenly claustrophobic, decides its time she is taken out of the car seat and lets out a piercing cry. I look at her and plead with her to hang on, which does no good. Now the tears and the flailing start, while I try mightily to hold on to the car seat. I silently curse the passengers ahead of us blocking the aisle as they take their own sweet time trying to figure out why a gargantuan suitcase won't fit into the tiny overhead bin. When I see them try to shove the luggage in for the fourth time, I feel like yelling at them, but am saved by the flight attendant who gently admonishes them and tells them that they need to gate check their bag. In-flight Twister ensues as those passengers try to get by me while I hold a car seat with a squirming, squealing infant. As I maneuver the car seat, I clock a seated gentleman squarely on the head - afterwards I can't tell whether he is unconscious or simply resting his face on his copy of of the Wall St. Journal. I glance at my ticket, praying to God that our seat is coming up. No such luck - we're the absolute last aisle on the plane, just before the bathroom (I bet the airline does that on purpose - stick parents with stinky babies by the stinky bathroom and no one will notice).
Now attracting evil glares from every passenger, my wife and I (who have become "those parents" with the screaming baby) apologize our way through to the back of the plane and to our seats. We slowly shed all our gear - the diaper bag, our carry ons, my wife's purse, food for the flight, reading material for the flight, jackets, base for the car seat and then finally the car seat with Nuha still ensconced within. The moment we set her down, she stops crying, and looks up and gives us an angelic smile.
I'm so wearing that spandex Spidey costume in front of her friends.
Saeeda and I spent the last week on vacation in LA. Saeeda had left two weeks ago, with her mom helping with the baby on the flight over. I joined the family later, spent a week in LA, and then we all returned to Chicago together. So the return trip was the first time I had ever traveled with an infant. It also marked the first time I became "that parent" with the baby who slows everything down.
See, in my past life I was a high-powered tech consultant, flying from city to city on a weekly basis. I was cool. I was hip. I knew which belt buckle to wear so that it wouldn't set off the detectors. I knew exactly which order to place my belongings for screening at the security checkpoint. Laptop in a bin by itself, followed by laptop bag, followed by my carry-on luggage, and end with shoes and jacket in another bin. This way I retrieved my most valuable belonging first, placed it back in the laptop bag as that came through, then put on my shoes and jacket before heading on my way. Less than 3 minutes start to finish.
Here's how things play out now. Saeeda and I struggle to squeeze the baby stroller through the narrow Disney-land lanes at the security checkpoint. We get to the screening area, then need to spend ten minutes disassembling the Transformer-like contraption that is the stroller (see my post here on how long it took me to assemble the damn thing). We then struggle with the diaper bag, which we don't realize has bottles of water in it for Nuha's milk. The water bottles need to be tossed, which takes some more fumbling. Starting to get embarrassed at how long this is taking, I simply start flinging stuff onto the belt for screening. I almost toss the baby into the x-ray machine before my wife stops my arm in mid-swing. My daughter looks at me accusingly ("hey, free x-rays!" I think to myself). I walk through the detector, only for alarms to go off because I haven't emptied my pockets. Embarrassed and defeated at having made such a rookie mistake, I step back and run into the passenger behind me so that I can sheepishly empty my pockets into a tray.
With our security screening adventures over, Saeeda and I make it to our gate and start boarding the plane. Now we have to navigate the narrow plane aisle in search of our seats while carrying Nuha in a baby seat. Nuha, suddenly claustrophobic, decides its time she is taken out of the car seat and lets out a piercing cry. I look at her and plead with her to hang on, which does no good. Now the tears and the flailing start, while I try mightily to hold on to the car seat. I silently curse the passengers ahead of us blocking the aisle as they take their own sweet time trying to figure out why a gargantuan suitcase won't fit into the tiny overhead bin. When I see them try to shove the luggage in for the fourth time, I feel like yelling at them, but am saved by the flight attendant who gently admonishes them and tells them that they need to gate check their bag. In-flight Twister ensues as those passengers try to get by me while I hold a car seat with a squirming, squealing infant. As I maneuver the car seat, I clock a seated gentleman squarely on the head - afterwards I can't tell whether he is unconscious or simply resting his face on his copy of of the Wall St. Journal. I glance at my ticket, praying to God that our seat is coming up. No such luck - we're the absolute last aisle on the plane, just before the bathroom (I bet the airline does that on purpose - stick parents with stinky babies by the stinky bathroom and no one will notice).
Now attracting evil glares from every passenger, my wife and I (who have become "those parents" with the screaming baby) apologize our way through to the back of the plane and to our seats. We slowly shed all our gear - the diaper bag, our carry ons, my wife's purse, food for the flight, reading material for the flight, jackets, base for the car seat and then finally the car seat with Nuha still ensconced within. The moment we set her down, she stops crying, and looks up and gives us an angelic smile.
I'm so wearing that spandex Spidey costume in front of her friends.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The defining crisis of our times
If you haven’t been living under a rock, then you’ve heard of the financial world’s collapse over the last two weeks (if you have been living under a rock, then congratulations - as Jon Stewart said, yours is the only real estate that has appreciated in value). Starting with Bear Stearns, the list of firms where the destruction is absolute is mind-boggling. Merrill Lynch, AIG, Freddie Mac, Fannie Mae, Goldman, Washington Mutual. And who knows which firm is next? In essence, you have what I believe is the defining crisis of our times, and not the War on Terror, nor the Rise of China.
The reason is simple – the Subprime Crisis has affected every level of the economy, and will impact the lives of individuals in every wealth bracket. That can’t be said of the War on Terror, an event that is highly relevant for military families and the war industry, but almost irrelevant for the majority of Americans, who still struggle to locate Iraq and Afghanistan on a map, and wonder what we are doing so many, many miles away from home.
The Rise of China had had a more pervasive effect on the American people, no doubt. It is hard to go one day without purchasing something that is not either made in China, or relies on components that were made in China. But outside of the economy, what difference is China making? Are we experiencing a cultural impact? An intellectual impact? The Olympics were widely hailed as China’s coming out party – despite China’s decade-long stranglehold on cheap manufacturing, it took an event as grand as the Summer Olympics for China to make a public impression on the outside world. “Hey!” China was saying. “Look at us – we matter!” This despite its long pace of breakneck growth, and increasing influence in foreign affairs.
No, it is the Subprime Crisis that has fundamentally changed, or is about to fundamentally change the way we live our lives. Homes are no longer safe economic shelters, loans for everyday purchases are disappearing or becoming harder to obtain, jobs are vanishing en masse as firms collapse, and most importantly, the global ripple effects form this crisis continue to magnify the pain. And I don’t even want to begin talking about how our retirement wealth is evaporating before our eyes, or how the phrase “consumer confidence” has descended into irrelevance.
The Great Depression, the Cold War, and now the Subprime Meltdown. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this generation’s defining crisis.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Faisal's Miracle Hair Gro - only $29.99 if you call now!
Many of you have kindly informed me over the years that I am losing my hair. I don't know if you derive pleasure from pointing out the ever-increasing patch of empty real-estate atop my head, or if you are just concerned that I may actually enjoy sporting the Captain Picard look. Nevertheless, I have decided to do something about it. This weekend I spent countless hours in my lab, pulling together a chemical concoction destined to blow Rogaine clear out of the water. Like any good scientist, I needed a human subject for testing purposes. My 3 month old daughter was sitting at arm's length, and since I didn't need to worry about her signing any consent forms, I went to town on her scalp. You'll agree from the results below that I have a winner. Please feel free to submit your order requests in the comments section. Satisfaction guaranteed.
The unsuspecting victim, before Miracle Hair Gro:
The satisfied customer, after Miracle Hair Gro:
The unsuspecting victim, before Miracle Hair Gro:
The satisfied customer, after Miracle Hair Gro:
Sunday, August 24, 2008
How to screw up an important presentation
My friend Kunal and I recently gave an important presentation to a group of senior leaders at Abbott. This presentation marked the culmination of several weeks worth of furious work, and was designed to get buy-in from upper-management for an initiative our teams had been working on. There were several reasons that this presentation was critical:
I honestly don't know how we made it through that hour. However, despite our miserable start we must have said something right, because as we sat slumped in our chairs, exhausted and relieved that we had finished, our managers congratulated us on a job well done. It was all I could do not to break out into tears right there and then. As I wiped at the welling moisture in my eyes I silently thanked God for continuing to provide a few more weeks worth of paychecks. Thank you God. Thank you.
- The project promised to bring attractive revenue to Abbott, and as such was a topic of interest to upper-management - one that had to be presented in a precise, methodical, and detailed manner.
- The collaboration between our two teams (mine and Kunal's) had yielded great results, and we wanted to highlight the potential to work on future projects in the same manner.
- This was an opportunity for Kunal and I to shine, impressing our seniors with the thoroughness of our work, and thereby enhancing our visibility within the circles we moved in.
- On the elevator ride down to the meeting room Kunal turned to me and wondered if there was going to be a projector in the room. I realized I had not bothered to check.
- Kunal and I arrived late to the presentation. All senior leaders were already present and seated around the table, waiting for us. Our tardiness was a result of getting pulled-in at the last minute to make changes to our presentation slides. Changes that we should have reviewed with our immediate managers hours (if not days) before the meeting.
- There was no projector in the room. We did not have printouts for our slides.
- Upon seeing the assembled management team, I decided to busy myself with introductions, as Kunal agreed to go hunt for a projector. Before the door closed behind him, I saw him run frantically in a circle outside the meeting room, before sprinting towards the elevator. Where he was going, I had no idea, but I now had to stall until he returned.
- I decided to introduce myself to everyone in the room, but this didn't take long. Naturally, I then decided to introduce everyone to everyone else, not thinking how many of these individuals already knew each other.
- With introductions complete, I started to wonder if I should break out into an interpretive dance routine when I was mercifully saved - one of the managers asked if anyone else had heard about Abbott's"greening initiative and the drive to cut down on printer paper waste."
- For the next ten minutes I became the most inquisitive student of the environmental impact of Abbott's printing output. I passionately wanted to understand why such an initiative had not been implemented earlier. I asked questions both simple and complex. I took notes. I brought up philosophical and political objections. I think I started losing people when I made the topic a metaphor for the search for extraterrestrial life.
- We were now fifteen minutes past the meeting start time, when God took mercy on my soul, and in ran Kunal, sweaty, out of breath, and with shirt untucked. Who he had killed to obtain the projector, I did not know, and did not care. My life depended on getting the presentation going.
- The power cord for the projector now had to be snaked under the table, between the legs of the assembled party, and into the outlet that lay embedded in the floor, positioned conveniently under the exact center of the table. I think I tackled aside the Alliance Management Director for Oncology in my eagerness to get that cord plugged in.
- As I wove my way, on hands and knees, between the legs of people that could fire me without skipping a beat, I had a sickening realization. The power cord was not long enough to make it to the outlet
- I re-emerged from beneath the table, dust bunnies hanging from my face, only to see Kunal's hopeful face turn despondent as I shook my head.
- Kunal and I then scrambled to reposition the projector precariously on the side of the table closest to a wall outlet. This meant pushing aside the Director of International Business Development and stretching the power cord taut so that it just made it to the wall. With the projector supported on the table in a Rube Goldberg-esque manner, and with its power cord stretched at waist-high level to the wall outlet, we had succeeded in effectively blocking all exit from the room.
- All attention now moved to powering on the projector. In our hurry, we pressed the On/Off button multiple times, so that the projector kept powering on and powering down. Kunal and I glared at each other as our hands performed kung-fu techniques on the projector in a vain attempt to get it turned on. Being the more gracious person, I decided to cede and sat down - no sooner had I done so than Kunal succeeded in turning on the infernal device.
- We had never hooked up our laptops to the version of projector in front of us, so another five minutes ticked off the clock as we attempted to bring the slides up on the screen in the room. A picture would appear on the projection screen for a fleeting second, vanish, then reappear, all as Kunal pressed the correct key combination, followed immediately by the wrong key combination in an attempt to get things started.
- Just as I began to mentally calculate how many months of savings I had stashed away, and what non-essential expenses my wife and I could cut away to stretch until I found a new job, Kunal's face lit up. The presentation was on the screen, and we were ready to roll.
I honestly don't know how we made it through that hour. However, despite our miserable start we must have said something right, because as we sat slumped in our chairs, exhausted and relieved that we had finished, our managers congratulated us on a job well done. It was all I could do not to break out into tears right there and then. As I wiped at the welling moisture in my eyes I silently thanked God for continuing to provide a few more weeks worth of paychecks. Thank you God. Thank you.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Awkward medical issues
*gasp*
Ah, fresh air.
Man, what a set of two weeks it's been. Work has been crazy - Abbott is finally getting a return on what they pay me. I say "finally" because my sales rotation didn't really count as work. Sure, I was away from home 9-5, but I never really put my MBA-honed skills to work. Business development (my current rotation that started three weeks ago), is completely different. 10-12 hour days, the constant burden of meetings and email, spreadsheet analyses, analyst reports, powerpoint hell - the whole nine yards.
On my current team, I'm the least accomplished (as well as the most recent) addition. I'm the rookie that knows diddly squat, and the Directors around me are fully aware of this fact. Their way of remedying my lack of knowledge is to hand me a project and let me sink or swim. These past two weeks I felt like I'd been haplessly treading water, barely breaking the surface enough to grab a lung-full of air before going back under. But I made it. With some much needed support from fellow newbies, I finally turned in a deliverable that did a half-way decent job of explaining why Abbott should pursue a certain business opportunity in the prostrate market. Reflecting back, I find certain things a little awkward. Like the fact that I now consider "prostrate" to be a market.
Breakfast foods is a market. Athletic shoes is a market. A man's prostrate gland? When did that become a market? But in business, as I've come to realize, everything can be packaged in a way that creates a market around it. The market for casual underwear. The market for cool whip. Perhaps even the market for toilet flush-handles. However, what makes things especially awkward in the healthcare industry is that some medical conditions can be difficult to discuss without giggling (or sometimes wincing), in front of your boss. I came close to doing this several times recently, as it is hard to discuss a man's urination problems, or the invasive surgical procedures designed to correct these conditions, without wanting to cross your legs in empathetic pain. Ouch.
But this project wasn't as bad as some of the work I did while I was at Pfizer. I distinctly remember sitting down regularly with the Viagra marketing group to see how my consulting team could assist them with their information needs. Inevitably talk would move to how effective certain ED meds were in giving men the sexual satisfaction they needed, and what side effects turned these men off, and how to measure the happiness level of spouses. The problem was that the entire Viagra marketing team consisted of women. Seven women and Faisal would sit around a conference table, earnestly discussing the sexual advantage of taking a pill that lasted 36 hours vs 3 hours, or how the quality of the erection was paramount, or how useful it was that a specific pill could also boost urine flow.
Awkward. Really awkward.
Ah, fresh air.
Man, what a set of two weeks it's been. Work has been crazy - Abbott is finally getting a return on what they pay me. I say "finally" because my sales rotation didn't really count as work. Sure, I was away from home 9-5, but I never really put my MBA-honed skills to work. Business development (my current rotation that started three weeks ago), is completely different. 10-12 hour days, the constant burden of meetings and email, spreadsheet analyses, analyst reports, powerpoint hell - the whole nine yards.
On my current team, I'm the least accomplished (as well as the most recent) addition. I'm the rookie that knows diddly squat, and the Directors around me are fully aware of this fact. Their way of remedying my lack of knowledge is to hand me a project and let me sink or swim. These past two weeks I felt like I'd been haplessly treading water, barely breaking the surface enough to grab a lung-full of air before going back under. But I made it. With some much needed support from fellow newbies, I finally turned in a deliverable that did a half-way decent job of explaining why Abbott should pursue a certain business opportunity in the prostrate market. Reflecting back, I find certain things a little awkward. Like the fact that I now consider "prostrate" to be a market.
Breakfast foods is a market. Athletic shoes is a market. A man's prostrate gland? When did that become a market? But in business, as I've come to realize, everything can be packaged in a way that creates a market around it. The market for casual underwear. The market for cool whip. Perhaps even the market for toilet flush-handles. However, what makes things especially awkward in the healthcare industry is that some medical conditions can be difficult to discuss without giggling (or sometimes wincing), in front of your boss. I came close to doing this several times recently, as it is hard to discuss a man's urination problems, or the invasive surgical procedures designed to correct these conditions, without wanting to cross your legs in empathetic pain. Ouch.
But this project wasn't as bad as some of the work I did while I was at Pfizer. I distinctly remember sitting down regularly with the Viagra marketing group to see how my consulting team could assist them with their information needs. Inevitably talk would move to how effective certain ED meds were in giving men the sexual satisfaction they needed, and what side effects turned these men off, and how to measure the happiness level of spouses. The problem was that the entire Viagra marketing team consisted of women. Seven women and Faisal would sit around a conference table, earnestly discussing the sexual advantage of taking a pill that lasted 36 hours vs 3 hours, or how the quality of the erection was paramount, or how useful it was that a specific pill could also boost urine flow.
Awkward. Really awkward.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
The birthing pain equivalent - trying to negotiate a car deal
Saeeda went through a lot during the birthing process. Any wife will attest to the pain of pushing out a baby, and when I ask mine, she asks me to imagine squeezing a tennis ball out of my nostril. The painful analogy is apt - watching her struggle in the hospital made it clear that there was nothing as physically demanding and painful that I could ever do that would compare to her experience. But Saeeda, it turned out, had different ideas.
Soon after Nuha arrived, I was given a seemingly straightforward assignment: find us a new car. At the time I thought that this was a reasonable request - we haven't had a car in more than three years, and with Nuha's doctor's appointments and my job in the suburbs, we're going to need one. However, I didn't completely understand Saeeda's true intentions. She simply wanted to punish me for putting her through the labor process.
You see, car buying remains a process as pleasant as having a root canal. The players involved have not evolved much over the years, despite the fact that the internet has helped educate the average consumer to the point that there is little we cannot find out. Within seconds, we can learn the true price of a car, read reviews on experiences past customers have had with dealerships, or study common pitfalls to avoid.
But car salesmen don't seem to understand this. From the moment you enter a dealership you are marked, and are worked over by the sales person until you either give in and buy the car, or decide you've had enough and want to leave. Rarely are you ever able to make it in and out on your terms, which are usually to test drive the car and get a price quote. Instead you have to dance the dance.
I'm meticulous about my research, and throughout this car buying process I've tried to have the maximum amount of information at my fingertips. But yet I've still had to endure the sales person asking me what monthly payment I'm looking for (never negotiate the monthly payment), how much I'd like to put down (minimize the downpayment, especially when leasing), or if I was ready to buy today (absolutely not). I've still had to cool my heels while the salesperson handed me off to their manager, who always jovially asked me how he could help me, or what he needed to do to earn my business.
Any time I asked an intelligent question, I got responses along the lines of, "well, it's a complicated calculation, and the city tax only makes matters worse, but I can bump up the term of the deal and drive payments down ... but tell me, you like the car, right? It's a great car, isn't it?"
*sigh*
So often it's taken all my self-control not to be rude and tell them that guys, I've been in sales for the last year. I know all about soft-closes and getting buy-in. I studied this stuff in business school. I can tell when you're trying to get me to commit. I understand numbers - moving the term of the deal out will lower my monthly payments, but I'm just making lower payments for longer, which in the end adds up to a larger amount. Please, just tell me what price you're willing to sell the car for so that I can go to the next dealer and shop around.
After about four dealers, I decided I'd had enough, and I started making phone calls instead. This I'd highly recommend. Call up a dealership, ask for their Internet sales manager. Tell them exactly what you are looking for, and that you are going to buy within a week if you can get the right price. If you get the "come into the dealership, we'll talk then" song and dance, tell them you'll do so if you get the right price, and that you won't come in until you've shopped around. Find out the MSRP of the car they come back at you with, as well as their sale price. Don't bother with financing questions if you are looking to buy, or leasing questions if you are looking to lease. All you care about are those two numbers.
The MSRP is the number you will use when you call another dealer about the same car. You want them to quote you a car that has the same MSRP as that of the first dealer. That's the only way you'll be able to compare apples to apples - that way you know both dealers are quoting you prices for the same type of car with the same features. However, it's the sale price that will clue you into how good a deal you're getting. After three or so quotes, it's up to you - how much you enjoy bargaining and negotiating, and playing dealers against each other? Do you love it? Then keep shopping, otherwise go with the lowest sales price.
My entire paternity leave was consumed by this process. I swear I was at a breaking point towards the end. But finally, on Friday, it happened. The right dealer with the right price, with a decent sales rep - all of it came together wonderfully, and I walked out with a shiny new Lexus RX 350. A stretch for our budget, no doubt, but not having bought ourselves anything nice in three years has earned us the right to splurge a little (screw those student loan payments!). And we won't be driving long distances, given that we live in the city, so gas prices are not a concern. I can't tell you how much I've missed that wonderful new car smell!
It's almost like ... giving birth. You go through immense amounts of pain and curse at your spouse, but your baby, when it arrives, makes it all worthwhile. Thank you Saeeda, for making me understand.
Soon after Nuha arrived, I was given a seemingly straightforward assignment: find us a new car. At the time I thought that this was a reasonable request - we haven't had a car in more than three years, and with Nuha's doctor's appointments and my job in the suburbs, we're going to need one. However, I didn't completely understand Saeeda's true intentions. She simply wanted to punish me for putting her through the labor process.
You see, car buying remains a process as pleasant as having a root canal. The players involved have not evolved much over the years, despite the fact that the internet has helped educate the average consumer to the point that there is little we cannot find out. Within seconds, we can learn the true price of a car, read reviews on experiences past customers have had with dealerships, or study common pitfalls to avoid.
But car salesmen don't seem to understand this. From the moment you enter a dealership you are marked, and are worked over by the sales person until you either give in and buy the car, or decide you've had enough and want to leave. Rarely are you ever able to make it in and out on your terms, which are usually to test drive the car and get a price quote. Instead you have to dance the dance.
I'm meticulous about my research, and throughout this car buying process I've tried to have the maximum amount of information at my fingertips. But yet I've still had to endure the sales person asking me what monthly payment I'm looking for (never negotiate the monthly payment), how much I'd like to put down (minimize the downpayment, especially when leasing), or if I was ready to buy today (absolutely not). I've still had to cool my heels while the salesperson handed me off to their manager, who always jovially asked me how he could help me, or what he needed to do to earn my business.
Any time I asked an intelligent question, I got responses along the lines of, "well, it's a complicated calculation, and the city tax only makes matters worse, but I can bump up the term of the deal and drive payments down ... but tell me, you like the car, right? It's a great car, isn't it?"
*sigh*
So often it's taken all my self-control not to be rude and tell them that guys, I've been in sales for the last year. I know all about soft-closes and getting buy-in. I studied this stuff in business school. I can tell when you're trying to get me to commit. I understand numbers - moving the term of the deal out will lower my monthly payments, but I'm just making lower payments for longer, which in the end adds up to a larger amount. Please, just tell me what price you're willing to sell the car for so that I can go to the next dealer and shop around.
After about four dealers, I decided I'd had enough, and I started making phone calls instead. This I'd highly recommend. Call up a dealership, ask for their Internet sales manager. Tell them exactly what you are looking for, and that you are going to buy within a week if you can get the right price. If you get the "come into the dealership, we'll talk then" song and dance, tell them you'll do so if you get the right price, and that you won't come in until you've shopped around. Find out the MSRP of the car they come back at you with, as well as their sale price. Don't bother with financing questions if you are looking to buy, or leasing questions if you are looking to lease. All you care about are those two numbers.
The MSRP is the number you will use when you call another dealer about the same car. You want them to quote you a car that has the same MSRP as that of the first dealer. That's the only way you'll be able to compare apples to apples - that way you know both dealers are quoting you prices for the same type of car with the same features. However, it's the sale price that will clue you into how good a deal you're getting. After three or so quotes, it's up to you - how much you enjoy bargaining and negotiating, and playing dealers against each other? Do you love it? Then keep shopping, otherwise go with the lowest sales price.
My entire paternity leave was consumed by this process. I swear I was at a breaking point towards the end. But finally, on Friday, it happened. The right dealer with the right price, with a decent sales rep - all of it came together wonderfully, and I walked out with a shiny new Lexus RX 350. A stretch for our budget, no doubt, but not having bought ourselves anything nice in three years has earned us the right to splurge a little (screw those student loan payments!). And we won't be driving long distances, given that we live in the city, so gas prices are not a concern. I can't tell you how much I've missed that wonderful new car smell!
It's almost like ... giving birth. You go through immense amounts of pain and curse at your spouse, but your baby, when it arrives, makes it all worthwhile. Thank you Saeeda, for making me understand.
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