viragette

the original post from last Friday:
The service manager from the local Toyota dealership just called my phone. We are looking to have some repairs done. My husband had originally requested and received their quote yesterday. This man would not give me any form of substantive message. I had to ask no fewer than 5 times before he would clarify - and when he finally spit it out, his answer was equal parts needlessly extended technical terms and extreme vagary. Then he insisted, for the sixth time, that my husband please call him back and proceeded to give me his contact info - again. Yes, again. I could have answered his questions and told him what we would like done with the car. But at that point I was too tempted to tell him what he could do with his tools. Moron.

Update 3/17/05: How the tides have turned, Sucka!
The same service manager, C, called again yesterday, asking for my husband. He had called earlier in the week and left a message, for my husband, stating the parts ordered for our repair had come in, and we could bring the car in for service. When he heard my voice pick up the phone yesterday, he introduced himself with an air of getting a brief message over with as soon as possible, and then asked me to have my husband return his call.

“My husband is at the hospital, on-call, and will not be available until Friday, but…” [this is where I was going to ask him what he wanted, so that I could help him.]

“Oh [he cuts me off], well, just have him call me then.”

Maybe it was that “Pimp My Ride” contest in Texas, or maybe it’s the way women who demand equal rights are being killed in Iraq, but at that moment, on that day, I was tempted to take him aside and explain to him the egregious error of his ways. And by “take him aside and explain the egregious error of his ways”, I mean take him round back to the alleyway, pummel him, and toss him in the nearby dumpsters. Verbally, of course. But I am bigger than that. Especially in the bust area since I can’t seem to break my half-bar-a-day chocolate habit, but I digress.

“Well C, I’m the HB’s wife and it’s my car, so I wonder if I can answer your questions.”

“Well… um, [palpable disorientation], we have the parts in and we’d like to schedule a time for you to come in. [Quickly recovering himself] We have a shuttle that can drop you off back home.”

Excuse me? Did I say that I was “at home”? No. I did not. I mean, I was, but that is not the point. This is my cell phone, nitwit. I could be off curing cancer, mo-fo! But, whatever, great! That way, I don’t even have to take off my apron and kitten heals. (About which I am actually not kidding.)

Viragette: “Here’s my question: you called last week and left the message for my husband with me that, according to the VIN number, our car does not have a sway-bar bushing. If you are not going to be doing the bushing repair, how will that effect the quote you gave me?”

C: [brief stupification] “Um. [Shuffling papers and sounding a tiny bit flustered] the window will be $230 [overpriced] and the muffler $204 [eh].”

Viragette: “I see. What about the problem with the alignment? My husband did some research based on the original diagnosis of a bushing problem, and I think he assumed it was the sway-bar involved. If it’s not the sway-bar bushing, it’s probably another bushing.”

C: “Well, there’s lots of bushings. We’ll have to get it in there to see. We won’t know how much that will be until we can find the problem. So - [begins to sound hopeful and solicitous] would you like to bring the car in later this week? I have an opening tomorrow afternoon.”

Moi? Would I like to bring the car in? To him? Tragically, I had other plans. I think I must have zoned out for a second to savor the inevitable dénouement.

C: “…Or..[speaking into the long pause] … I have a couple open times on Friday…”

Viragette: “Well C, that’s good to know. I’ll tell my husband that you called.” Click.