Mr. Write's Page

A couple of months ago, I contracted a case of new-car fever. The circumstances were classic.

Since 2007, I’ve been driving a Subaru Forester, a solid, reliable vehicle that has served me well. I always liked it, enjoyed driving it, took care of it. The Roo easily has another five years in her, maybe more.

But the body style is dated, and it has none of the bells and whistles found in newer cars — display screens, backup camera, Bluetooth, and whatnot. And honestly, the Forester has reached the age when big-ticket repairs may well be in my future.

So, secure in the knowledge that I was doing the right thing (which is the key to rationalizing a car purchase), I set out to find new wheels.

I began by looking at small SUVs of every stripe — Toyota, Honda, Ford, Chevy, Kia, Mazda, Nissan, Hyundai. I hit every dealership in the area. I discovered that all small SUVs these days, regardless of brand, look like a Ford Escape.

But there are differences in quality and features, and in the end, after entirely too much deliberation, I bought a Honda CR-V. I found a low-mileage 2014 model at Carmax that will suit me just fine.

Which brings me to the subject of this missive: the complex, fascinating sales behemoth that is Carmax.

Ah, Carmax. What an enlightening, entertaining experience it was.

Carmax has 140 facilities in 37 states, including six stores in metro Atlanta. Their nearest operation (Norcross) isn’t too far from where I live, so I drove down to look at some CR-Vs.

Frankly, I hadn’t thought much about the place — had no need to think about it — since the late 1990s, when they sold me a Toyota Corolla.

Back then, the Carmax operation consisted of one giant building, aswarm with sales people and customers, surrounded by a mammoth paved lot packed with cars. There were thousands of them, lined up like sardines in a can.

Nothing much has changed in the ensuing the years. The place has more and bigger buildings now, and, of course, the company has gone digital in a major way.

But it’s the same beehive of activity, with sales associates zipping around the property in golf carts, rooms full of underlings grinding out the voluminous paperwork, and legions of mechanics and technicians tending to the vehicles.

Order out of chaos is the phrase that came to mind.

When I walked in the front door, a cadre of sales associates turned their earnest smiles in my direction. One of them approached and asked how he could be of service. Show me some CR-Vs, I said.

He referred to his clipboard, announced the name of a salesperson, and went to fetch her. She would be my official sales contact thereafter.

A word about large organizations: all of them, whether business, government, military, or otherwise, function in essentially the same way. Having evolved to achieve certain ends, they pursue those ends with as much determination and efficiency as they can wring out of their employees.

Carmax is structured to warehouse thousands of vehicles and to make every vehicle available on demand. If you want to see a particular car, the Carmax associate will feed its VIN number into the computer, and the system will identify its location, and you will go there in a golf cart.

Now, my intention isn’t Carmax-bashing. I like Carmax. The people were friendly and pleasant. The process was simple and relatively painless, and I got a nice vehicle.

But Carmax, like all organizations, is operated by people. Which means that perfection simply isn’t in the cards. There will be errors, mistakes, blunders.

To judge the success of an organization — to reveal its true mettle — look at how successfully it accommodates the gaffes and miscalculations of its people.

In that respect, Carmax was tested with the very first vehicle I asked to see.

“Shirley,” I said to my designated Carmax representative (not her real name, but she seemed like a Shirley), “I found several CR-Vs online that are close to what I’m looking for.” I handed her my list.

She turned to her computer, located the first vehicle, and jotted down some numbers. “The Hondas, Kias, and Toyotas are all in the same area of the lot,” she said, gesturing vaguely into the distance. “Let’s get started before it gets any hotter.”

So Shirley and I zipped by golf cart to the southeast corner of the massive Carmax lot. When we arrived at row number something-or-other, she slowed down.

“Okay,” she said, “What we want is a 2014 CR-V LE, twilight blue metallic,” We cruised slowly down the row, passing car after car, brand after brand, model after model.

Although I’m an amateur at such things, Shirley was quite practiced and eagle-eyed. Nevertheless, the quarry eluded us.

We moved to the next row, then the row after that. Finally, she stopped the golf cart.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Something’s not right. Maybe I wrote down the location wrong. Why don’t you wait here, look at cars, compare features and all. I’ll go back to the office and figure this out.”

I agreed and climbed out of the golf cart. Shirley apologized for the inconvenience and departed.

I used my time kicking the tires of CR-Vs and noting the similarities and differences from one model year to the next. I also observed that after years of banishment, green is again an acceptable exterior color.

About 10 minutes later, the golf cart returned.

“Good news,” said Shirley. “I got a lead on the blue LE. It was set aside to be sold last week, but the buyer backed out. On paper, it was returned to stock, but for some reason, it wasn’t returned physically.”

“So, you found it?” I asked.

“No, not yet. I’ve got people looking.”

She told me to hop in, and we returned to the main building. When we stopped at the back entrance, her phone rang.

“This is Shirley. Yes. Right. Okay. Thanks.” She hung up, looking a bit flustered.

“Well, they found it,” she said. “It’s still in the ‘on hold’ section. But the office can’t find the keys. Very odd.”

The June sun was getting higher. Shirley took out a handkerchief and mopped her brow. “Why don’t you wait here in the shade. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith. Most of the time, it isn’t this difficult.”

To me, the situation was more amusing than annoying. I told her I would be fine waiting there in the shade. She apologized again and departed.

Five minutes later, she was back. “I found the LE. Hop in,” she said.

The elusive vehicle was, indeed, parked in the “on hold” area behind the main building. As Shirley explained on the way, there was a good reason why it was still there, and why nobody could find the keys.

“It seems that the keys got locked in the car.”

“You don’t have an extra set of keys?” I asked. She shrugged.

We arrived at the vehicle and simultaneously peered inside. There were the keys, dangling from the ignition.

“Well, at least you get to see the vehicle from the outside,” she said brightly.

I stated the obvious. “This can’t be the first time keys got locked in a car,” I said. “Can’t you get a locksmith to open the door?”

“Oh, sure. There’s a Norcross locksmith who’s here every day — hardly ever leaves the premises. He’s around somewhere. They put a call in to him.”

For the next few minutes, I circled the car, peeking through the glass and checking it out the best I could. Not being able to open a door or sit behind the wheel was a bit of a hindrance.

Shirley, meanwhile, was on her phone, trying to reach the locksmith. He didn’t answer, so she called someone else.

“I know he’s backed up. He’s always backed up,” she said to the someone. “But I’ve got a customer waiting to see this car. I need a locksmith over here now.”

Evidently, the someone was unmoved. Shirley hung up with a scowl.

“The locksmith is gonna call me,” she said.

At that point, Shirley and I mutually agreed to quit while we were behind. We returned to her office and looked up the other CR-Vs on my list.

To our great relief, all were located where the computer said they would be.

I assume the locksmith eventually showed up and got the keys out of the blue CR-V. I meant to ask, but it slipped my mind.

Except for the first 40 minutes, my visit to Carmax that day went swell. I got my questions answered, puzzled out the necessary tradeoffs between features and cost, and homed in on what I wanted.

Specifically, I settled on a vehicle we found online at Carmax in Birmingham. Carmax transferred it to Norcross for free, without obligation, so I could see it firsthand before committing. It arrived a week later, and I liked it and signed the deal.

Now that it’s done, I’m happy, Carmax is happy, and my bank is happy.

Anyway, I learned from this experience that somewhere at Carmax headquarters, a team of underlings is dedicated to the task of constantly transferring vehicles around the country.

A system like that must be most impressive — easily as elaborate as any national freight hauler, and certainly more complex than, say, Amtrak.

Order out of chaos.

The Carmax facility in Norcross.

My CR-V, a handsome Alabaster Silver Metallic, on the lot in Birmingham.