An open letter to the Harley Davidson dealership

Dear Harley Davidson dealership,

Hi.  It’s me, Nate Southard.  You might remember me from when I bought an Iron 883 back in October.  Actually, that’s a stupid thing to say.  You obviously don’t remember me buying a motorcycle from your rather cavernous-yet-shiny store.  Why do I say this?

Because, if you did remember my purchase, you might have mailed my license plates instead of keeping them on a desk in some back office.

Because, if you did remember my purchase, your various salesmen might not keep calling me two months later to ask if I’m still interested in buying a Sportster.

To be fair, one salesman called to ask if I was ready to trade in my 883 for a bigger bike.  That salesman, I assume, is less an idiot and more an asshole.

Look, I know times are tough.  I know sales of new bikes are down.  I’ve read about the production shutdowns at your factories.  That said, I don’t feel the answer is to cold call every name you have on file.  Most likely, that kind of behavior will send the motorcycle-buying public running for the hills.  I know you’ve chased me away from your dealership.

Thank you.  That is all.

Sincerely,

Nate Southard

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