On Sunday morning, I read the online reviews for Sterling Motors of Scottsdale.

Most were good. Fancy showroom. Beautiful cars. Free coffee.

But there was a pattern, if you looked for it.

I'm a retired teacher. I went in wearing my gardening hat and was told the “budget models” were at a different dealer. I had my checkbook in my bag.

Came in after work in my mechanic's overalls. Salesman named Brent wouldn't let me test drive. Bought the same car in Mesa the next day.

I'm a young mom with two kids. Waited forty minutes. Nobody came over. A man in a suit who walked in after me was served in two.

There were dozens of them. Going back three years.

And in almost every one, somewhere near the bottom, there was another name.

The only nice person was the young guy washing the cars.

A kid called Tyler brought my kids a juice box and showed them the cars while we waited. Tyler should be running the place.

At lunchtime, Rita called back.

“Carol Benson will match the deal,” she said. “Same price. Better service package. She'll have the contract ready by Monday morning. She sounded very surprised and very happy.”

“Tell Carol I've got one more question for her,” I said.