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Here’s how self-fulfilling prophecies work.
A couple of weeks ago, alarmed by the Trump administration’s decision to eighty-six every possible renewable energy incentive so we can continue burning the residue of dead plants and animals, I visited our local GM dealership. We had installed solar panels when we bought our Staunton home four years ago, and it had been my plan at that time to eventually buy an electric vehicle as well. But now, with passage of the Big Ugly Bill (no, not Trump’s cellmate), I realized that the $7,500 federal tax credit for U.S.-built EVs was about to expire. Time to get a move on!
I did my homework online, then visited the showroom. “Can I help you?” asked a helpful salesman as I strolled in. “Sure,” I replied. “Can you show me your Blazer EVs and Equinox EVs.” Silence, then, “I’d like to, but we don’t have any.”
That was a surprise for at least two reasons. Number one, the Obaugh Chevrolet dealership has scores, if not hundreds, of new vehicles on its lot; could it be that not one of them was from the nameplate’s two top-selling SUV EVs? And number two, I had walked right past a brand-new white Equinox EV parked in front of the showroom. Could it be that this car had already been sold and was simply there for servicing?
As it turned out, the Equinox was a) the only SUV EV on the lot; and b) was indeed unsold and l0oking for a buyer. But the fact that the salesman did not know his inventory was only the tip of the iceberg: he also did not know anything about the vehicle itself, resulting in a mutual journey of discovery as the two of us figured out how to take a test drive. Nor was he in some way unusual, as became achingly clear when I returned to the dealership a couple of days after buying the solitary Equinox with just one of the many questions for which I couldn’t find an answer.
The plastic key fob, as is true of all new cars with remote door openers, incorporates a thin metal key that can be withdrawn and inserted into a door handle for access in case the battery goes dead. That’s helpful. What’s not helpful is the lack of any guidance on where that insertion should be made, since the Equinox door handles are flat and recessed and don’t have any holes, obvious or otherwise. (Trust me: I looked a long time before making a fool of myself by returning to the dealership with so silly a query. I shouldn’t have worried.)
What ensued looked like a Keystone Kops segment, with first one, then a second, than a third and fourth dealership employee converging on the Equinox in response to their co-workers calling for help. Two frantically scrolled through their cellphones, while one leafed through the scanty documentation that GM now grudgingly provides for its vehicles. The fourth peered at the emergency key with the kind of fascination with which early primates pawed at the obelisk in 2001: A Space Odyssey. The 20-page booklet, with less information than comes with a new microwave, clearly showed how to fit the key—if you were trying to get into a Cadillac Lyriq, which in addition to having a much heftier price tag has door handles that aren’t as cool as those on the Equinox; they have key holes.
Eventually, after about 20 minutes, the mystery was solved. The Equinox’s mystery key hole is nowhere near the handles it unlocks. It’s in the back, on the bottom left edge of the trunk lid, visible only if you lie on the ground and look up. It’s covered by a plastic cap that must be pried off. What could be less intuitive?
Early on, while filling out the purchase papers, I commented to the person taking my money, “Well, I guess you don’t sell many EVs.” “No,” he replied, “we just don’t have much demand for them.”
I can see why. Reminds me of the probably apocryphal story of the shoe company, looking to expand its market, sending two salesmen to different parts of Africa. The first quickly wired back (this is an old story), “Wasted trip! No one here wears shoes.”
The second took a little longer, but eventually wired: “Crank up production! Great market—no one here wears shoes.”
P.S. The Equinox is a wonderful car, although making the switch to an EV takes some getting used to: it’s basically a computer and large battery on wheels. But it’s super quiet, handles well, accelerates briskly and has a range of more than 325 miles on a full charge. Best of all, after the tax rebate, a $1,000 discount because of my Costco executive membership and an additional $1,500 dealer discount, the bottom line was less than $27,000. That’s really hard to beat—but the federal tax credit expires at the end of September.
As for my other questions, I realized trying to get them answered by the dealership is a waste of time, since it knows as little as I do. I did find and download a 361-page manual online, though.
Looking askance 