Those Pesky Necessities . . . Cars

Today I spent waaaaaaaay too much time at the car dealership. After waiting the 2 hours, from 8:15-10:15, which was the estimated time they gave me to complete the work, I got the "quiet approach." In a sea full of waiting people, all sitting semi-uncomfortably in waiting room chairs, watching CNN, always a handful of people talking a little too loudly on cell phones, there I sat — reading my book, balancing my checkbook, taking glances at CNN, listening to people's cell phone conversations, and drinking complimentary coffee with bad powdered creamer. I could handle all that.

But then my serviceman did the "quiet approach." It's when they come at you, smiling, piece of paper in hand (with lots of dollar signs on it and words like "differential" and "transmission" that make me feel vulnerable and stupid) and they say your name quietly, always politely and with a Ms. in front, and they tell you very softly, almost as if talking to a sleeping baby, what "needs" to be done in addition to what you came in for. And when the conversation is done, the serviceman walks away and everyone in the waiting room gives you that sorta sympathetic look. And you were so close, so close to getting out with a simple "Your car is ready Ms. Gahan."

Luckily the dealership is across from a mall, so I took the shuttle over and walked around, grabbed an iced tea and pretended to shop. Remember, I'm poor now that I have to get my "differential" fixed. So the iced tea was all I left with . . . oh, and I have a new differential, or maybe it's just new fluids in the differential, or perhaps they just replaced the loose screws in the differential, was there a hose involved? . . .

I think I want to marry a mechanic.