If you're shopping for an older used car, I've learned there's no guarantee that a car purchased off the used car lot at a major dealership is going to be any better than one you'd buy off of Facebook Marketplace, Craigslist, the community bulletin board at Kroger's or one sitting on the side of the road with "FOR SALE" painted in shoe polish on the windshield. And if my track record is any indicator, you're probably better off not buying a used car from a dealership. Save of course for anything that's "certified" or has the bulk of its factory warranty left on it. Case in point, this 1996 Ford Thunderbird I found for sale at a big Ford dealership on the east side of Cleveland.
It popped up on my Facebook wall the other day and I bit. I'm always looking for that oh-so-nice older car that no one wants that has low mileage and is in great shape. Only 60,000 miles on its twenty-six-year-old, (surprisingly still) analog ticker and although its asking price of $6,990 is on the high side of reasonable, I thought it a decent deal. Especially in these Covid-inflated times where a ten-year-old Chevrolet Impala's with 100K on it is going for twelve-grand.
Getting a real handle on what this should be priced at, though, is easier said than done. Even in this day and age of easy info at your fingertips. NADA price guidelines peg this at $4,400 "high retail", KBB lists a trade-in value at $2,500. Quite the proverbial old spread.
A nationwide search on cars.com doesn't have much info on Thunderbirds of this vintage because there aren't many out there. I tried to run "comps" anyway and found a '97 in Yakima, Washington with 66,000 miles on the odometer for $4,995 but there are no pictures of it. Another '96 in Grandin, North Dakota with a body cladding kit, 1986 vintage T-Bird Turbo Coupe wheels and driven just 26,000 miles in twenty-six years has an ask of $11,000. Lots of pics on that one, though. Cladding looks silly and the wheels are out of place on it too.
On the way to the dealership, I figured the closer all-in to the asking price the better I might be. I'm talking tax, tags, dealer prep and whatever nonsense Ohio allows used car sellers to charge. Trust me, there's a whole lot more wiggle room on used cars than new and dinosaurs like this rear-wheel-driver in a "snow city", not to mention one with a big V-8 aren't exactly in high demand.
Things started to go south when I noticed that the rust on the driver's side fender, that was, in fairness, disclosed to me prior to my ninety-minute slog up there, was a whole lot worse than what I was led to believe it was. That metal is super-spongy and it's ready to give way. And when it does, seeing that's where the fender bolts to the frame of the car, that's got to be fixed immediately. Pricey. Perhaps I could find a clean fender used and even if it's not white, I could get it painted and still be ahead of the game.
This is how fast I can rationalize a vehicle purchase that has glaring signs that I should sprint away from it as quickly as possible.
Trunk lid didn't sit quite right either but, after all, this is a twenty-six-year-old car. I do have to be reasonable. Well, try to be reasonable. Carfax report indicated it had been hit on the passenger front fender in 2004 but it was minor, apparently. Looked clean enough to me.
I find the styling just so-so on these Thunderbirds; I think the Mercury Cougar a better-looking car but the interior is to die for. Whatever your definition of luxury is, mine is seat comfort. And these are more supple, supportive and luxurious than the thrones in my wife's 1995 Lexus SC400. That's saying a lot too. Not to mention the very good seats in my 2002 Chevrolet Monte Carlo.
I thought about how nice it would be taking this on the long road trip to visit my wife's niece at the University of Mississippi in September. The ice-cold AC wafting over us, the luscious leather buckets keeping us refreshed and comfy. My dreaming quickly came to a screeching halt when I turned the ignition key, and nothing happened. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Nuttin'.
Figuring it was just a dead battery, my wonderful salesperson Kareem went and got a jumper. He certainly looked like he knew what he was doing when he attached the positive cable to the negative and vice versa. I swore that battery caught fire for a split second. He quickly deduced what he did wrong and put the cables on the right terminals, but the car still wouldn't start. Dead as a door nail. I told Kareem it was the starter. He looked at me like a deer in headlights. Nice kid. Not a clue about cars.
I wish I could say I was my "best me" at that point but I wasn't. The rust bubble on the fender, the out-of-alignment trunk lid, the fairly high asking price and then the no-start had me caustically thanking them for wasting my time. Kareem's boss, who couldn't be older than my older son, smarmily snapped back, "sir, things break." I uttered a muffled, somewhat stymied eff-bomb with my back turned to them as I walked away.
After I figuratively cooled off, the AC's not working in my younger son's Malibu that's my ride this week as the Monte Carlo is in the shop again, I was somewhat kicking myself for not low-balling them, buying it at a steep discount with no questions asked and having AAA tow it to my home. Then I thought about all the trouble I'd have fixing that nasty rust bubble. Having to buy rims for snow tires too and who knows what else.
Pretty car, though. And, oh, those seats. But recalling how my son's Malibu I bought from a used car lot wouldn't start the day I picked it up, how the check engine light came on soon after I bought our Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder from a Honda store, all the trouble the dealer bought Camaro I bought my older son gave me, not to mention how awful my 1982 Oldsmobile dealership purchased Buick Riviera was, I figured it best to let the earth cool and forget about it. You'd think you're better off buying a used car from a dealership but if you're buying something "as is", caveat emptor.
Dealership emailed me the next day saying it turned out to be the starter like I suspected. They invited me back for a test drive. Thanks, but I'll pass. Once bitten, as they say. Twice shy. More like bitten a half dozen times. Had this thing started and I enjoyed it as much as I probably would have, who knows. There might be a blue oval in my driveway today.
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