I make an appointment.
I go to the appointment.
I'm actually early for said appointment. (Hell hadn't frozen over, but it was a record low for the given time--so almost).
I tell them I want an oil change and whatever maintenance that does not exceed my credit line (I'm poor, is what I told them without hesitation--why are you looking skeptically at me to the sports edition Lexus?) and an appraisal for a possible trade-in and they take my keys.
I wait, patiently, in boredom. It's amazing how intensely focused I can be on a game of brickbreaker of all things.
Almost two hours later (two, really?) I get my keys and am on my merry way after I hand them Visa the blue not to be confused with Visa the silver--the distinction is subtle in financial difference, less so than in color.
I'm stranded in my parking lot and not because I've put off buying a 9-volt battery for my gate-opener because 'just because the landlady says they last 6 months, mine lasted a year-and-a-half and should therefore last until 2 since it's such a rounder number than 1.5).
After spending five minutes confirming that my engine sounds like a party noise maker thing and another five freaking out, I call the SO with a "I broke it again!"
Ah, I am loved. SO makes for a loverly white knight--perhaps an even better one should I convince him to go on a diet and exercise with me (God, I'm becoming my mother with the criticisms...at least I'm nicer about it). And I am less a damsel in distress and make for a more distressing damsel and a cranky one at that.
So, evidently... Mechanics can't be bothered to check my battery. I mean why would they? You ask for an oil change and the basic maintenance so why would you expect them to look at the second most important bit in the car--the bit that lets the engine go vroom! instead of sounding like it has a constipated stutter? So surely, they can't be bothered to pour a little water into the part where evidently water is needed to keep a charge for the plates... Or something like that...
I glazed over at the explanation and elatedly squealed like a school girl when car went vroom!
What I don't get is the endgame. Is it some diabolical plot? Did they anticipate that I would tow my broken car back to those lackadaisical mechanics and let them charge me a 200% mark up for a new battery? Because really, if that was their plan--HA!
I don't care if it is petty or vindictive. I wished them an agonizingly painful death.
Sad that the aforementioned was the most interesting thing that happened to me recently... Oh, we had to link jumper cables because I parked in a corner and the spot next to me was not open. That was a
dangerousfun adventure in 'don't touch, no matter how helpful ECT would be to deal with the many, many issues you have.'
( Glee's on tonight...Collapse )
I dun'wanna go to class.
- loci:My Shoebox
- sensus: irritated
- musica:Cold Hard Bitch ~ Jet