Following announcements that Germany’s Daimler-Benz is merging with Chrysler and that Volkswagen may buy Rolls-Royce, Daimler-Benz also has announced that it may form an alliance with Japanese auto giant Nissan.–News item.
I’d seen and heard their ad slogans over and over again in their TV commercials: “Yesterday, Deutschland, today, the World!,” not to speak of the catchy,”Ein Volk! Ein Reich!! Ein Auto!!!”
So when I learned that Daimler-Benz–or as the corporation is now called, “Daimler-Benz-Chrysler-Nissan-Rolls-Royc e-Volkswagen-Ford-Mitsubishi-Toyota-Swob oda-Hyundai-Studebaker-Saab-Messerschmitt-Kaiser-Fraser-Focke-Wulfe-General Motors-Krupp-Ferrari-Nash-Pierce Arrow-Lamborghini-Renault-Humvee-Schwinn “–had come out with its new 1999 models, I hurried down to my nearest dealer, who was just a couple of thousand miles away in Palm Springs, Calif.
They had only one model on view, but it occupied pretty much the entire showroom.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said the salesman, much as a car salesman had once said to me in 1962 when selling me a 1949 Oldsmobile sedan with a periodically flaming automatic transmission. “We’re calling it, the MERGE. Not only does it aptly express our core corporate value; it gives us free advertising along every Interstate highway in America.”
“What are its features?” I asked, quite frankly awed, for it was the longest car I’d ever seen in my life, as well as the widest and tallest.
“The most important thing is here on the back,” he said. “The gleaming Mercedes-Benz three-pointed star trunk ornament. It will impress your neighbors with how infinitely superior you are to them.”
“My neighbors are millionaires,” I said.
“Well, then,” the salesman said, leading me to the front. “Just park it the other way around, and impress them with this genuine Rolls-Royce radiator grill and hood ornament, set in a new 1999 Volkswagen Beetle hood.
“My neighbors are old money Social Register types,” I said. “They don’t believe you can acquire social status just by buying a car. They drive a 1957 Nash.”
“What a subversive idea,” he said. “Das ist sehr un-American.”
I noted that the MERGE was described in its brochure as a “luxury economy multi-purpose high-performance sport utility vehicle.”
“That’s right,” said the salesman. “It incorporates the features of the Chrysler Jeep Cherokee, the Toyota Landcruiser and the Cadillac luxury four-by-four.”
“It says, `Twelve-wheel drive?’ “
“You want that, with all the weight it has to carry. You need four wheels just to support the burglar alarm system. It can be heard for 10 miles.”
“I didn’t know Cadillac made a luxury four-by-four,” I said.
“It does now,” he said. “We bought General Motors.”
I walked around the vehicle, kicking all the tires until my foot got tired, then climbed up a stepladder to look at the sticker price.
“Nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine dollars?” I asked.
“If you want a mini-van, go buy a Plymouth. Except you can’t. We own Plymouth now, too. If you like, I’ll throw in floor mats and one of those nifty driving caps that middle-aged bald guys wear when they get their little red sports cars.”
“I don’t think I can afford this car,” I said.
“Why not?” he asked. “Are you another one of those impoverished unemployed autoworkers who keep coming around?”
“No, but don’t you have a cheaper model?”
“We don’t have any other model. We’re only producing this one automobile this year. Not making cars saves on production costs and increases profit margins–not to speak of enhancing core corporate values. Next year we’re going to start cutting back on wheels.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I just don’t think I’m in the market for . . . “”I think it’s time you spoke to our sales manager,” he said.
The sales manager stormed out to make his pitch. He put on a spiked helmet, clicked his heels, leaned into my face and shouted at the top of his lungs: “YOU VILL BUY ZIS CAR!!!!”
“Well,” I said, finally, as the sales manager marched off. “What kind of gas mileage do you get with a MERGE.”
“Five in the city, and you never have enough gas to make it into the country,” he said. “But you have this high-resolution, full-color, laser-directed dashboard instrument panel radar screen that shows you exactly where you’ve run out of gas.”
“You know,” I said. “I think I’ll just stick with my Jeep Wrangler.”
“Sorry, but you can’t,” he said. “Last night, when you weren’t looking, we bought it from you.”
