Michael SatterfieldI worked in the retail automotive industry for a while, and let me tell you—it’s an experience like no other. The car business isn’t just about selling vehicles; it’s about managing personalities, navigating chaos, and dealing with customers who sometimes bring more drama than a soap opera. Now that I’m out of the retail world, I can finally take a step back, reflect, and share some of the most outrageous, head-scratching, and downright hilarious moments from my time on the frontlines.
What you’re about to read are my Crazy Car Business Stories. These are the interactions that became legends in the break room, the stories we’d recount at happy hour, shaking our heads in disbelief. From customers with wild conspiracy theories about “fake invoices” to people launching entire websites and radio shows over minor grievances, each tale is a reminder of just how unpredictable this business can be.
Thankfully, I no longer have to navigate these minefields of customer “logic,” but these stories will stay with me forever. So sit back, relax, and enjoy a front-row seat to the bizarre and unforgettable world of automotive retail. Here are some of my favorite customer interactions that prove truth really is stranger than fiction.
Crazy Car Business Stories: Mustang Fakeleen
The dealership owner I worked for wanted to sell Saleen Mustangs. Unfortunately, the regional Saleen dealership was just down the highway, making it impossible for our dealership to become an authorized dealer. Undeterred, the owner and some managers came up with the idea of creating our aftermarket car division, similar to Galpin Ford’s famous GAS (Galpin Auto Sports).
Inspired, it seemed, by a few episodes of Pimp My Ride—his apparent source of research—the owner hired a manager to lead the new department. This individual, who claimed he “grew up on the mean streets of Alta Loma,” spoke with a liberal use of the word “dawg” and punctuated every sentence with “you know what I’m saying.” He was confident he was the man for the job.
One of his first assignments was to create a package to rival Saleen. The problem? His track record wasn’t exactly stellar. He’d previously worked at a company infamous for cheaply made products that fueled the early-2000s “rice rocket” craze—think “simulated carbon fiber spoilers” and “racing-style seats,” all poorly manufactured in China.
His master plan? Build a Saleen clone—“down to the decals, dawg.” Somehow, he convinced the owner to provide two brand-new Mustang GTs for this ambitious “Saleen Conversion.” We were dismissed when others and I suggested that they disclose that these cars were not authentic Saleens. “That would take away from the car,” they said. Instead, they branded it as a “Saleen-Equipped Mustang.”
The first two cars were soon on the showroom floor. One of them, a sleek black supercharged convertible with the complete Saleen package (minus interior modifications), caught a customer’s eye. He wrote a check for $65,000, believing he was buying a genuine Saleen.
Throughout the sale, I tried to convince the team to have the buyer sign a waiver acknowledging it was a clone. But everyone, from the managers to the sales staff, refused. “It’ll ruin the buying experience,” they said.
Fast forward 16 months, and the “Fakeleen” was back in front of the dealership. This time, it arrived with a furious customer, who stormed in demanding answers. He’d tried trading the car at the BMW dealership across the street for a new M3, only to discover that his $65,000 “Saleen” was actually a $28,000 Mustang GT with aftermarket parts. The trade-in value? A measly $19,000—far below the $45,000 he expected for a genuine Saleen.
Cue the lawyers. After some legal wrangling, the dealership cut a check to the customer for the entire purchase price. Effectively, he had driven a supercharged, Saleen-equipped Mustang for free. The car was eventually resold—this time with proper disclaimers stating it was not an authentic Saleen.
Crazy Car Business Stories: Your Tax Dollars At Work
I was working as the Internet Sales Manager for a dealer group that included Ford, Lincoln, Mercury, and Kia when I received an urgent phone call from a local state assemblywoman’s office. A staffer on the other end sounded frantic. “I need two Lincoln Town Car Signature L models—black-on-black,” he said, his voice strained. “One for the local office and one for the Sacramento office.”
The problem? The Town Car Signature L had recently been discontinued. I put him on hold to check the regional inventory database, but there were none within 500 miles. I explained I’d need to call him back, though I already suspected that if we didn’t have any, chances were slim that anyone else in California would.
As I searched in vain for inventory, curiosity got the better of me, and I Googled the assemblywoman’s name. Page after page of results highlighted her work on green legislation, hybrid car mandates, and environmental activism. It was all about reducing emissions, promoting sustainability, and regulating what Californians should drive. Given her public stance, I couldn’t resist having a little fun with the situation.
I called the office back and was promptly transferred to the same staffer. “Good news,” I said cheerfully. “I have the perfect cars for your boss. Two black-on-black Ford Escape Hybrids.”
The other end of the line went silent.
Encouraged, I continued. “Since the assemblywoman is so passionate about the environment and has championed laws regulating the kinds of cars Californians should drive, I figured she’d love a car that gets double the gas mileage of a Town Car and costs about $15,000 less each. It’s a perfect fit, don’t you think?”
That’s when the staffer exploded. “She cannot be seen in something like that! She needs a prestigious car for entertaining dignitaries. If you’re not willing to help us, we’ll find someone who will!”
I hung up the phone, laughing. The idea of a state assembly member “entertaining dignitaries” in her taxpayer-funded luxury cars was too ridiculous not to find amusing. They were looking to spend nearly $100,000 on two Town Cars so a staffer could chauffeur her around like she was the president. Ah, your tax dollars at work.
Crazy Car Business Stories: The Millionaire
“Hello, sir! Welcome to XYZ Dealer. How can I help you?” I asked, addressing the disheveled man standing in front of a brand-new GT500. His clothes were dirty, his hair unkempt, and he looked like he had just wandered in from a construction site.
“I want to drive it,” he said bluntly, pointing at the GT500.
“Sorry, sir,” I replied politely. “But no one test drives the GT500—not even me.”
That’s when he exploded. “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I OWN A VIPER, A LAMBORGHINI, A CORVETTE, A FERRARI, AND ABOUT 20 OTHER CARS! I’M A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE SUPERCAR MARKET!”
“Well, that’s impressive, sir,” I said, keeping my tone calm. “But store policy states that no one drives the car until they’re approved to purchase it. If you’d like to fill out a credit application, I can see what I can do.”
He cut me off, his face turning red. “I AM A FUCKING MILLIONAIRE! I WRITE CHECKS FOR MORE THAN YOUR ENTIRE YEAR’S PAY. I DON’T FILL OUT ANY FUCKING PAPERWORK! WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR MANAGER?”
Now he was just inches from my face, practically vibrating with rage. I took a step back, opened the door, and gestured inside. “Please come in.”
I led him to our general manager, Brian, who was standing near the sales tower. “Brian, this gentleman would like to speak to you about driving the GT500,” I said.
Without even looking up, Brian responded, “Tell him no.”
Before I could relay the message, the “millionaire” erupted again. “FUCK THE TEST DRIVE! I’M PAST THAT! I WILL BUY THAT CAR FOR FULL PRICE IF YOU FIRE THIS SALESMAN RIGHT NOW, IN FRONT OF ME! THIS LITTLE PRICK TRIED TO TELL ME I NEEDED TO QUALIFY TO DRIVE IT! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”
The man was now red-faced and shouting, so Brian invited him into an office to calm things down and avoid a bigger scene on the showroom floor. A few minutes later, the man stormed out of the office, his face even redder. As he stomped toward the exit, he yelled, “FUCK THIS DEALER! YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO TREAT PEOPLE WITH MONEY! I’LL BE BACK, MOTHERFUCKERS!”
Brian emerged from the office shaking his head. “That guy was nuts,” he said.
Curious to see what “supercar” he would leave in, we watched through the dealership’s large windows. Parked outside were an M6, an AMG Mercedes, and even a Ford GT in for service. Surely, one of those belonged to him.
Nope.
He walked right past them and climbed into an early 1980s Toyota pickup truck with a mismatched bed, a bondo-filled door, and peeling paint. To cap it off, he did a burnout as he left the lot.
As wild as that was, it got even better. The next day, true to his word, he returned. This time, he brought one of his “supercars,” a gold metallic 1980 Corvette that had definitely seen better days. He also brought a sandwich board sign with a long, rambling message scrawled across it—though it was impossible to read from a distance.
He spent the day pacing in front of the dealership, ranting about our business while wearing his sign. Eventually, the police showed up and persuaded him to leave.
Crazy Car Business Stories: ACLU vs BMW
One morning, a large woman in stretch pants and a pink leopard print top walked onto the showroom floor and announced, “I want to buy that BMW in the front. Can you pull it up?” Since it was my turn to help, I grabbed the keys and ran out to the line. I unlocked the key box, started the car, and pulled it up to the front.
As I got out, she pointed to the big yellow sticker on the windshield that read $2599 and declared, “I’ll take it for that price right there.”
I hesitated, realizing immediately what had happened. You could still see the faint outline of a larger sticker that had been removed—this was clearly a mistake. “Ma’am,” I began, “it looks like someone removed part of the sticker. The actual price is $25,999, as listed on the window tag and the rest of the car’s paperwork.”
She wasn’t having it. “Nope, not gonna work. I know my rights. That’s false advertising, and I’m calling the ACLU!” she shouted.
I blinked, trying to make sense of her response. “The ACLU?” I asked. “Why would you call the ACLU about an advertising dispute?”
“They give people free lawyers when people like you try to screw them over!” she replied confidently.
At that point, I couldn’t help myself—I started laughing. Her face turned red, and she got even angrier. As I went to move the car to fix the sticker, she shouted at her “partner,” an older man with a cane and sweatpants that said MICKEY across the butt. “Block the car!” she yelled.
The man shuffled forward but not fast enough to stop me. Meanwhile, she snapped photos with her flip phone, yelling, “This is for the ACLU! The shit’s gonna hit the fan when this gets out!”
I had the decal fixed and returned the car to the front line, but when I got back, she’d escalated things. She was now inside the dealership, yelling at the sales manager. He calmly invited her to leave, but she refused. “I’m waiting for the ACLU to call me back, and then we’ll see what’s what!” she declared.
Apparently, she wasn’t going anywhere. She helped herself to some free coffee and settled into the service lounge in front of the TV.
That’s when I realized the punchline: she wasn’t even shopping for a car. She was waiting for her car in service the whole time.
Crazy Car Business Stories: Toilets Are For Customers
It was a typical slow Tuesday morning at the dealership, and all the salesmen were standing around at the front, chatting and killing time. Suddenly, a very large man, at least 6 foot 7, rounded the corner from the customer lounge. His face was angry and determined, and it was clear he was on a mission.
“Can I help you, sir?” one of the salesmen asked.
“I NEED TO SEE A MANAGER RIGHT NOW!” the man bellowed in a deep, gruff voice.
The desk manager turned around, a bit startled. “What can I do for you?” he asked, trying to diffuse whatever storm was brewing.
Now visibly shaken, the man was a whirlwind of emotions—angry, frustrated, and on the verge of tears. He took a deep breath and pointed an accusatory finger across the showroom. “I WAS JUST IN YOUR RESTROOM, AND I SAW ONE OF YOUR SALESMEN—THAT GUY!” he said, jabbing his finger toward Steve, whose face was frozen in shock. “USING THE HANDICAPPED RESTROOM STALL.”
The entire room fell silent. The manager, clearly confused but trying to keep things professional, said, “I’m sorry about that, sir. I’ll inform the team to be more mindful of the handicapped stall. I apologize if you weren’t able to access it.”
The large man’s expression darkened even further. His voice rose in outrage as he shouted, “I AM NOT HANDICAPPED! I’M JUST SICK AND TIRED OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE HANDICAPPED!” He pointed furiously at Steve, who looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
For a moment, no one knew what to say. Then, just as suddenly as he had arrived, the man lowered his finger, turned, and stormed off, muttering under his breath. He walked out of the dealership and never returned.
Steve stood there, still stunned, as the rest of us struggled to suppress our laughter. It was one of the most bizarre complaints we’d ever seen—and one we wouldn’t soon forget.
Crazy Car Business Stories: The Angry Husband
One morning, I was walking toward the service department with another sales guy when a man strolled into the guest lounge. He was a sight to behold—fairly overweight, squeezed into an ill-fitting, purplish suit that looked like it was borrowed from a thrift store clearance rack. He had the vibe of someone who might start lecturing kids about living in a van down by the river.
The moment he entered, he began looking around frantically, spinning on his heels as if searching for someone. Then he spotted me. His eyes lit up, and he pointed straight at me.
“You’re the guy… YOU’RE THE GUY!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the lounge.
I froze, confused. I’d never seen this man in my life. “Who are you looking for?” I asked cautiously.
With a wild look in his eyes, he took a step closer. “YOU! You’re the guy I saw climbing over the back fence at my house. You’re the guy that HAS BEEN SLEEPING WITH MY WIFE!”
At this point, my brain short-circuited. I was in complete shock. I’d never seen this guy before, never climbed over any fences, and definitely wasn’t sleeping with anyone’s wife. “Your name is Dave, right? I saw the text messages!” he accused, his voice rising.
“Look, man,” I said, trying to keep calm, “my name is Mike, and I’m not sleeping with anybody’s wife.”
That’s when the strangest thing happened. His entire demeanor shifted. The anger drained from his face, replaced by an almost cheerful politeness. “Oh, well, I’m sorry,” he said, as if he’d just realized he’d been looking for the wrong aisle at the grocery store. “I’m looking for a Dave. If you could point me in his direction, that’d be great.”
Now, we did have a Dave who worked at the dealership. But considering this guy’s energy, I decided to have a little fun. “Oh, yeah,” I said, keeping a straight face. “Dave works over at the dealership across the street. You’ll probably find him there.”
The man nodded, thanked me, and hurried off to hunt down Dave at our rival dealership. As soon as he was out of earshot, my coworker and I burst out laughing. The poor guy across the street had no idea what was coming.
Crazy Car Business Stories: Kia Nut I
It started as a nice, slow weekday morning—nothing out of the ordinary—when a customer wandered over from the service department demanding to speak to a sales manager. The man was visibly annoyed, and his grievance was… unique.
He owned a nearly 100,000-mile Kia Spectra, and while Kia had already gone above and beyond by replacing the transmission under the 100,000-mile powertrain warranty, he wasn’t satisfied. His complaint? If he started the car cold in the morning, shifted the automatic transmission into 1st gear (not Drive), and floored it, the transmission would attempt to shift into 2nd gear once he hit the speed limit for 1st. However, if he let the car warm up for five minutes, it worked perfectly fine. Yes, this was the hill he chose to die on.
Now, it’s hard to imagine why anyone would expect a 10-year-old Kia with 100,000 miles to behave like it rolled off the showroom floor. Still, the manager tried to help, confirming that Kia had replaced the transmission and that they wouldn’t be covering any non-lubricated parts under the warranty. Despite weeks of phone calls and explanations, the customer remained furious. His demand? That the dealer either fix the car so it would stay in 1st gear at full throttle or give him a brand-new car to replace his “like-new” Spectra.
The service staff patiently pointed out that he likely didn’t need to floor his car in 1st gear, and even if he did, warming it up for five minutes would solve the issue. This only enraged him further. A fireman with plenty of free time, he decided to escalate. Dramatically.
First, he launched two websites dedicated to exposing the dealership’s “poor treatment.” Then he started a blog. Soon after, an online radio show. His rhetoric was filled with lines like “I’m a paying customer!”—which was laughable because he had never bought a car, paid for service, or spent a dime at the dealership. Kia had already honored his warranty claim, but apparently, that wasn’t enough. He wanted justice for his 1st gear grievance.
As his complaints gained no traction, he ramped up his efforts. He got local radio and TV stations involved, convincing consumer advocates to do stories about the dealership. During a live radio interview with one of the dealership’s service staff, the truth finally came out: the dealership had offered to fix the issue for the cost of parts since they’d already pulled the transmission for the warranty repair. And, of course, if he simply let the car warm up, the problem went away entirely. The radio host, shocked by this revelation, turned on the man. “Wait, you left that part out,” he said.
Undeterred, the man doubled down, justifying his complaint with increasingly bizarre scenarios. On air, he declared, “What if I were in the mountains, in the snow, and there was an emergency? I’d need to be in 1st gear immediately! If I can’t wait five minutes for the car to warm up, my family’s lives would be in danger because of Kia and this dealership!” It was at this point the host realized he wasn’t dealing with a rational person.
For 18 months, the man kept at it—posting YouTube videos of himself driving in 1st gear, blogging his grievances, and railing against Kia and the dealership. Then, one day, he announced triumphantly that he’d purchased a car from CarMax, praising their “exceptional service” and their ability to handle issues correctly.
What he didn’t realize? CarMax sent all major service work for his make and model to… the same dealership he despised.
Eventually, his crusade faded away, leaving behind only a legacy of blog posts, low-resolution YouTube videos, and the memory of one man’s absurd quest to defeat a 100,000-mile Kia Spectra.
Crazy Car Business Stories: Kia Nut II
It started innocently enough. A 40-year-old woman came into the dealership, ready to buy a Kia Optima. The twist? Her parents were footing the bill because she was still in college—after 20 years. She proudly explained she was finally about to get her bachelor’s degree and then planned to go to law school. To prove just how much she’d learned in school, she was determined to negotiate the best deal possible.
After some back and forth, we agreed to sell the car at invoice minus rebates. It was last year’s model, and we just wanted it off the lot. But she wasn’t done. “I want to see the real invoice,” she said, crossing her arms. “You guys have fake invoices you print out—I learned that in my pre-law class.” After five and a half hours of negotiation, they finally signed the paperwork. That’s when the real nightmare began.
First, she and her parents wanted me to go over every single nut and bolt. They even demanded I climb into the trunk to test the emergency trunk release. “What if someone kidnaps our baby girl and she can’t get out because it’s faulty?” they said. I declined, which led to a lot of yelling about safety. Then they wanted me to test the CD player—but not just with one CD. No, I had to use five different CDs to prove it worked because, according to her, “dealers have special CDs that work, but normal ones won’t. That way, you can charge us later for a repair.”
Next, they insisted I check all the fluids and tire pressure in front of them. “We bought a car once, and the dealer filled the oil with water so we’d have to come back for engine repairs,” her mom explained. By now, I was starting to understand where the daughter got her brilliance. Finally, they asked me to take the car for another spin around the block. During the drive, they complained about everything.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
“No, that’s just the sound of the tires,” I replied.
“Oh, the old ‘that’s normal’ excuse, huh?” she said, glaring.
We ended up back at the service department, where the service manager confirmed the car was perfectly fine.
The next day, my phone rang. It was her, crying hysterically on the side of the freeway. “I have a check engine light! You sold me a lemon! You fucking sold me a lemon!” she wailed.
I asked what had happened. She explained she was on a road trip and had just filled up the gas tank for the first time. I calmly told her to check the gas cap because if it wasn’t tightened properly, it could trigger the check engine light. She got out to check. Sure enough, it was loose.
“I’m not driving it with a check engine light! You need to send a tow truck NOW,” she screamed. I told her to call roadside assistance, who would take her to the nearest dealer.
Three hours later, she called back, furious. The tow truck had taken forever, and worse, it had towed her car to the nearest dealer—not ours, which was five hours away. The other dealer reset the check engine light and confirmed it was just the gas cap. Problem solved, right? Not quite.
The next day, her dad called me. “You owe my daughter an apology!” he barked. “She got a B on her paper because she had to deal with the lemon you sold her!”
I explained that the issue was a loose gas cap, and she could’ve driven the car. He cut me off. “That’s what you want us to do—drive the car until the engine explodes so you can rake in thousands in warranty work. We’re not that dumb!”
I thought to myself, Yes… yes, you are.
About two weeks later, the car showed up at our dealership on a flatbed, with keys in the ignition and no explanation. I called her to ask what was going on. She informed me they no longer wanted the car because they had purchased a new one. “Just rip up the contract,” she said.
The car now had 1,700 miles and scratches all down the side. I explained to Miss Pre-Law that the financing had already been funded, her down payment check had cleared, and the car was hers. She’d have to keep it or take a repo on her credit. Her dad, who was on speakerphone, chimed in. “She’s going to be a judge one day, so you better watch yourself, mister! Speak to her with respect when discussing the law.”
I couldn’t resist. “Maybe she should actually go to law school before offering legal advice,” I said.
Eventually, the bank stepped in, and a month later, her dad begrudgingly came to pick up the car.
The funniest part? She later found the first crazy Kia guy’s blog and commented that she wished he had read it sooner before dealing with our dealership.
These and so many other stories, my friends, are why I am no longer in the retail automotive business.
