One bad experience can make the 'stealership' name stick

I've never been one to refer to a car dealership as the cleverly-concocted "stealership."

Sure, I've heard stories over the years that have left me scratching my head, including one Jim Kenzie touched on earlier this season where the son of one of Motoring TV's camera guys was told that all the oil had escaped the engine of his brand new car through osmosis.

And sure, the dealership I bought my new car from a couple years ago tried to take me for a bit of a ride on the price.

But never before had I truly understood why people distrust, and sometimes despise, car dealers—until now.

My dilemma began in late June, when I noticed a squeal coming from the engine bay of my two-year-old car.

I'm no Bill Gardiner, but I know enough about automotive mechanics to get by.

So I pulled over, popped the hood, and, with the help of a flashlight, inspected the most obvious suspect: The serpentine belt.

There were no cracks or signs of uneven wear to be found, and tension was good.

And besides, with only about 47,000 kilometres on the clock, the original belt was well below the average of about 100,000 to 160,000 kilometres you can expect out of a one these days.

So I took the car in to the local dealer to have it looked at.

I explained to the service advisor what the problem was, and that the belt still looked to be in great shape, so I was a little surprised when, about an hour later, he called to say a new belt was in order.

Maybe the mechanic saw something I didn't, I thought; he is the professional, after all.

So, against my better judgement, I authorized the work and the near-$300 charge that came with it.

I made it less than a block after picking up the car before I noticed it was still squealing like a pig in, well, you know.

And so I was back at the dealership.

The mechanic "adjusted the belt"—I would assume the tensioner—and I was on my way in a squeal-free ride.

Except five days later, while out running errands, I noticed that all-too familiar sound emanating from the engine bay.

So the car went back, this time for a water pump replacement.

The work, which was covered by the manufacturer's warranty, took a few hours, and when I went to pick up the car I asked about being reimbursed for the belt replacement.

The service advisor said, and I paraphrase here, that on the bright side, I did get a brand new belt out of the deal, and it's something that can't be taken off and replaced with the old one, and asked if I would be willing to pay the $90 or so for the cost of the belt and be refunded for the labour cost.

I was floored.

I explained that the car only has 47,000 kilometres on it, far from the 100,000-kilometre-or-more mark typical of a belt replacement, and that if the mechanic had done his due diligence in the first place the belt never would have been changed at all.

He relented and refunded me in full.

Now, I understand that this could have happened anywhere—a dealership, independent mechanic or chain store.

And I also must say that, despite the headache involved with bringing my car in three times to have the same problem resolved, it did finally get taken care of the right way—and under warranty.

But I finally understand why consumers distrust dealerships.

The whole situation got me thinking about the idea of the "stealership" nickname bestowed upon car dealers, and how it all stems from mistrust and misinformation.

It's no secret that manufacturers are making a hard push to get drivers into their service bays.

Ford's "beware of parts unknown" campaign and Toyota's commercial featuring a gentleman claiming he would never bring his car to the same place he goes to buy his ladder immediately spring to mind.

But just as Jim noted in his segment, from the shop floor to the showroom, manufacturers need to have the right people on the front lines in order to build confidence in their brands.