I hate talking shop with friendly car salesmen, who must think they know more about cars, the motor trade and the intricacies of COE bidding than me, the proverbial poor consumer.
I don’t want to feel less clever than the guy trying to sell me a new ride, who probably knows the vehicle like the back of his hand. Gals, on the other hand, at least look less knowledgeable than me about cars in general and “my” car in particular.
Put simply, saleswomen boost my automotive ego while salesmen bruise it. I need to feel empowered in the car showroom, not underpowered. So give me Eve and let me play Adam.
Doing the test drive with a sales guy seated beside me is another no-no. I would very much prefer a chick in the cockpit whom I can impress with my (average) driving skills.
Test-driving a car with a saleswoman beside me has its dangers, however. There’s this Leng Kee legend of how a young chap crashed a Honda test car on a perfectly straight road because the short skirt and long legs riding alongside his gearstick distracted him. 
