I didn’t set out to roast Ford. I set out to drive one. Unfortunately, the 2024 Mustang GT Premium I bought turned out to be less “premium sports car” and more “haunted washing machine with Bluetooth.”
Let’s start with the basics: Ford sold me what they claimed was a brand-new Mustang GT Premium with a performance package, active valve exhaust, and all the bells and whistles that make a grown adult justify buying something in “Atlas Blue.” What I actually got was a car that looked fast, sounded fast, and had more electrical issues than I could even begin to identify.
Turns out, that’s because this “brand-new” car had been used and abused at the local racetrack before it ever reached me. Not “tested.” Not “demoed.” Used. As in, “burnouts, doughnuts, and tire smoke for breakfast” used. One local even recognized it and told me, “Oh yeah, that’s the one they used to tear up the track every weekend.” Great — I basically adopted a rescue Mustang.
The navigation console was the final insult, a moody little dictator that ruled over every system in the car. It would crash, freeze, or flat‑out die whenever it felt like it—usually when I needed it most. The backup camera, the Bluetooth, the A/C, the heater, even the damn defroster—everything was wired through that one finicky touchscreen. Lose the console and you lose half the car’s personality, plus every ounce of safety. One second you’re listening to music, the next you’re driving a $60,000 paperweight praying the defroster comes back before you need to breathe through the fogged‑up windshield. It’s like Ford built the whole vehicle around one iPad that hates its owner.
So I filed a lemon law claim, because apparently “sold a track car as new” qualifies as a problem. Ford’s response? They sent me a letter saying they’d buy the car back. Great, right? Justice! Redemption! A rare moment of corporate decency!
Except there was one minor problem: they didn’t include a single way to respond.
No return address.
No email.
No fax.
No phone number.
Nothing.
Imagine being handed a golden ticket with no chocolate factory on it. That’s Ford’s idea of customer service. So I did what any rational human being would do when handed a corporate dead end: I filed an ex parte motion in court asking a judge to order Ford to follow through on their own damn offer.
And then — because the universe has a dark sense of humor — a recall notice shows up in my mailbox.
Yep. Just days after filing my motion, Ford mailed me an “Important Safety Recall” for the same 2024 Mustang (Compliance Recall 25C43 / NHTSA Recall 25V546). Turns out, the car “fails to conform to Federal Motor Vehicle Safety Standard 108” — you know, the one about lamps and lighting equipment. According to Ford, water can leak into the Body Control Module (BCM), causing corrosion, electrical failure, and loss of communication with the lights. Yeah, I didn’t need a recall notice to know that my Ford wasn’t safe to drive.
In Ford’s own words:
“Corrosion in the BCM causes loss of communication with exterior lighting components, and signal lamps that are required to be activated with low beams… may not be activated.”
Translation: your $60,000 Mustang might short out in the rain like a cheap toaster. Or, to put it another way, it turns out that there’s now an official explanation for all of the electrical problems I was having.
They even apologized — well, “apologized” — while assuring me that “parts are now available to repair your vehicle.” Free of charge, of course. Because it’s totally normal to send someone a recall letter for a car you’ve already admitted is a lemon while simultaneously refusing to buy it back.
That recall basically confirmed what I’d been shouting from the start: the car was defective from day one, and Ford knew it, for quite some time, as it now turns out.
And still, their next move still wasn’t to buy it back — it was to run for the hills.
They went silent until the last possible second. Then, on Friday, November 7, 2025, they filed a notice of appeal in state court, just to stall the process. Because apparently, Ford engineers delay tactics infinitely better than they do cars. (As a Chevy man, I can’t say that I’m surprised.)
Then, on Monday, November 10, Ford yanked the case into federal court — and lied to the court by saying I was represented by attorneys who aren’t even representing me! That procedural stunt blocked me from filing anything until the court fixes it. So right now, Ford gets to flood the docket while I’m stuck waiting to be recognized as… myself.
And if that weren’t ridiculous enough, when Ford filed their notice of appeal, they also brought in a second law firm. Two entire firms now — two teams of well-paid attorneys, billing God knows how much per hour — all working together to avoid buying back a car they already offered to buy back. To be fair, I wouldn’t want to buy it either. But the optics? Chef’s kiss. It’s just little ole me, sitting here self-taught, running circles around Ford’s legal army like it’s a one-man demolition derby. Oh — and did I mention I never attended a day of high school? I taught myself from a book, took the GED, and passed. Meanwhile, Ford’s hiring a small legal village to keep from honoring their own letter. They’re going to spend more money delaying the buyback then they would have spent buying the damn thing back.
That’s not “due process.” That’s weaponized bureaucracy.
So here we are:
- They sold me a car that was thrashed at a racetrack.
- They lied about its features.
- They offered to buy it back but left out any way to accept.
- They got hit with a federal safety recall confirming the defects.
- They brought in two separate law firms to avoid doing what they already agreed to do.
- And now they’re hiding behind federal court filings and imaginary lawyers like a petulant child hiding behind their mother’s skirts.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is what bad faith looks like in high definition, the very sort of thing that exposes them penalties of twice the statutory damages, along with attorneys’ fees.
And the recall letter? That’s Ford admitting — on company letterhead — that they built a car so defective, it violated federal safety standards. The irony? The recall repair offers a free rental if the dealer has to keep your car overnight. If only Ford offered rentals for all the time their customers lose chasing them through court.
Seeing how the rental has to be a Ford, though, I suspect I’ll be turning the free rental down.
A Final Word to Ford
Hey Ford, maybe next time, when you send a buyback letter, include a phone number. Or better yet, a car that doesn’t corrode from moisture in the air. You could’ve done the right thing. Instead, you’ve made my Mustang the poster child for corporate incompetence — and now, thanks to your recall, I’ve got proof straight from your own mailroom.
“Built Ford Tough”? Please, only until the first rain.