I will say that the Honda dealership I got my new Civic from was very good about treating me well. The salesman (young Eastern European immigrant, most likely Polish or Slavic, considering the neighborhood) was very laid back and still respectful. Probably helped that I was by myself and didn't have my dad with me.

The obviousness and impenetrability of the guy's cluelessness was gobsmacking.

Seriously. I told this guy flat out. "That, right there, is a big part of the problem. I am not your mother. I am not your aunt. I am a customer. Do not treat me like anything else." but I know he didn't and wouldn't get it.

When we go car shopping for me, the salesguys always start with "What color car do you want?"

I yelled at a saleswoman for starting with that question. I told her, "I don't even know if I like the car yet. How do I know what color I would like. I'm here for a test drive."

But clearly you're a girl, and you should want a pink car.

My most important criteria is an engine with enough pickup to help me navigate the freeways here, but they somehow don't expect that.

PINK!

But clearly you're a girl, and you should want a pink car.

My most important criteria is an engine with enough pickup to help me navigate the freeways here, but they somehow don't expect that.

I also don't understand why one automatically rules out the other.

One of the reasons I bought my car is that it is very very pretty. (Robin's WBB confirmed once that it was a total chick car).

One of the other reasons is that it goes 85 without much effort at all.

I know when *I* buy a car, I just want 3 things:

(1) It makes me look pretty;
(2) It complements my eyes; and
(3) It doesn't make my butt look big.

And Teppy's number 3 is the real, untold reason soccer moms favor mini-vans.

I wanted a V6 engine. Period.

But I demand that my cars should be dark blue.

the vehicle all the girls want: [link]