A Deal You Cannot Refuse

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Corporations are just different in Belgium. Everything comes down to who you know and what you know, really. And before you say something like: well, it’s just like that in America, let me relate a little story to you that will illustrate my point.

Yesterday, my friend and co-worker Keith wanted to acquire a rental car (which is sounding more and more like a good idea, but more on that later), so, at lunch, we decided to hoof it over to the local Hertz, which is right across the street from where we work (SHAPE, the NATO base, if anyone is interested). And walk we did, across a busy highway (I felt like Frogger) and through a muddy field to the office. A muddy field? you may be asking yourself. Yes, a muddy field, as there was no walkway to get to this place. Unless you call a veritable half acre of 3 feet deep mud a walkway. And I do not.

Anyway, we finally wade our way in to the joint, shaking off grime and soot as we go, and make our way to the front door. Once inside, we immediately notice that the place is virtually empty. It’s pretty big, but, the door frames are cracked and falling apart, an overhead light has what appears to be a broken bulb and the paint is flaking off and looks to have been fresh circa 1944. Plenty of atmosphere. All if it bad. I’ve been in spiffier homeless shelters. That smelled better, too.
The office is fairly large, and mostly empty, except for two gentlemen sitting at desks in the middle of the room. One is younger, one is older. The older gentleman just looks at us, so we head on over to the younger of the two. Keith had made his reservation on the Internet, and was very excited at the great deal he had gotten. Basically, he rented a Volkswagen wagon for about 350 euros for 11 days. This is an excellent deal, as I can attest to. My own rental, for a much dinkier car, was about 540 euros for 18 days. Not so cheap. I canceled it upon my arrival to avoid the charge.

Keith gives the guy his ID, and he busily begins looking up the reservation. Ah, there it is, he exclaims, and starts printing out receipts and forms to sign. Voila, he says, just sign right here and that will only be 950 euros for the car. Keith looks at me, I look at him. 950 euros, I ask. Mais oui, says our salesman, 350 euros for the car, and 600 euros for the insurance for 11 days. Uhm, insurance costs 600 euros, Keith asks. Yes, yes, sir, that is how much it costs. Having seen how people drive around here, the cost does not surprise me.

Well, I don’t know about you, Mr. or Mrs. Reader, but I don’t know very many people who would pay over $1400 USD for an 11 day rental.

But, no use in getting angry. Not only does it raise the blood pressure and causes those little frown lines, it is entirely pointless. The angrier one gets, the merrier the clerk at whatever establishment you find yourself in appears to become.

I think Keith and I are both past the point where we would start raising hell about deceptive business practices and expecting that to have any good result. Because, the fact is, business is not the same here as in America, and the concept of customer service is not so well developed. I have observed that if a Belgian heard the standard American business credo, “The customer is always right!”, he or she would double over in laughter. It seems to me, perhaps an unreliable or biased observer, of course, that businesses in Belgium are run in terms of the convenience to its employees as opposed to that of its customers.

And this is only to say that, when once again encountering a situation such as this, I have learned to stop getting angry and to start looking for another angle to play. Because, there are always other angles to play.

Longish story short, it turned out that it was much more economical to rent a smaller car for a longer period of time, so that is what Keith did. Instead of the wagon, he rented an economy car. Instead of renting for 11 days, he rented for a month. Total bill: 540 euros. I asked why the insurance was so much cheaper for a longer period of time, but was ignored. I also asked why the price that our salesman quoted to us was so much cheaper than the one I found online for the same car and same period of time, and was answered with a shrug.

In any event, as I stood there in the Hertz office, I began to think about how nice it would be not to have to rely on the bus to go everywhere. The bus system, as I have pointed out already, is fairly extensive, and you can pretty much live your life without a car here if you so choose. The problem with this is the lack of freedom one has to just up and go somewhere, anywhere, at a moment’s notice. As an American, I come from a culture in which a car is not a luxury, it is a necessity. As such, I find being tied to the bus schedule a bit of a nuisance. So, here I am in the rental office, except the only problem is, Europe is filled with cars with manual transmission – automatic transmissions are exceedingly rare. And I hate driving standards. I asked our salesman if he had any automatics available, and, if so, the cost.

Yes, he said, we have these, new ones that had just come into the lot. And, the price for the same car (with an auto trans) for a month was 780 euros. Having learned never to take the first answer as final, I countered with a proposal of my own: give me the automatic at the same price as the standard, and you have a deal. The salesman said he would see what he could do and call me at home once he figured out a way to do it. With that, he gathered up my friend and walked him out the door to go pick up his car. As I was following, I heard the older gentleman call out to me, “Wait one moment, monsieur, let’s talk”. I walked back in, whereupon the old man said, under his breath, that he had an automatic that he could let me have for 500 euros a month, including VAT and insurance. The only catch: I could not tell the other salesman that he had rented it to me. In fact, I would have to come back later that day between the hours of 13.00 and 14.00 to get it, as this is when the other salesman was out to lunch. An alternative, he said, was to watch the store and wait for the young guy to go home, and then I could come in and get the car.

What is one to make of such an offer? And the manner in which I would have to take advantage of it? Turns out, the guy didn’t even work for Hertz, but he would be renting me a Hertz owned vehicle. I tried to pin down, exactly, who he did work for, and why was he sitting in a Hertz office. Was it possible he just showed up every day, had his own desk shipped in, and nobody cared? Why, yes, I find that entirely plausible. Try as I might, though, I could never quite figure out what was going on.

Needless to say, I did not accept this shady offer. For all I know, I’d be driving around in a stolen car, hastily painted a different color, but probably with the same plates still attached. Or, I would pay the money, and find out the car was lacking little details like a steering wheel or an engine. You know the old saying, I am sure: you can’t cheat an honest man. While I am not as honest as I should be, I find myself thinking of that phrase in situations such as these, in a country such as this. The offer was tempting, that is true, but how much would I really be paying for that car in the long run?

*****

On another note, thank you for the comments. I like logging in and seeing them. Reminds me of home, and the friends and family that I have there. So, thank you.

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Filed under In Belgium, Man About Town