To Thine Own Self…

One year ago yesterday, I officially started blogging.  Of course, that blog no longer exists due to a minor meltdown of major proportions or a major meltdown of minor proportions…take your pick.  The result is the same.  I erased myself!

But…as happens little, if ever, in life, I got another chance.

Okay, I TOOK another chance; to reinvent myself.

I won’t win any inventor’s award or have to worry about someone stealing my patent, but all things considered, I’m happy with the new me.

I’m still sarcastic, but only when it’s warranted.

I still swear (occasionally), but I really do have a new outlook.

As I now have to look out for myself, numero uno, in all respects, this learning curve has been somewhat daunting and intimidating, but as each new opportunity has arisen for me to apply this new-found self-reliance, I’ve found it easier and easier.  I’m getting the hang of it!

NOTE:  And to my lady lovelies…I highly recommend you start this process too, if you haven’t already.  Learn to be your own best defense.  If there’s something you hate to do, don’t know how to do, usually leave to the brawn…STOP. The harder it is…the more necessary it is to take the lead and do yourself.  No matter your current life situation, circumstance, comfort level…don’t wait until the day comes, if the day comes, where you find yourself in this position. Capiche?  

So, this new me had a plan.  To do something special to commemorate my one year.  But as they say “the best laid plans…”

Instead of heading to a recently discovered photographic wow spot, to take the photo I wanted to accompany my anniversary post, I ended up sitting in the waiting room of my waaay too familiar car dealerships‘ service department.  Long story short, came home hours later without my car.  Again. For the fourth time.

But please, these guys are oooooh so good.

Really.

So polite.  So caring.  Who else would have left me out there for three and a half hours without a word or an update.  Left me so long that I finally got pissed off I went into their space demanding said update.  Imagine what those poor souls have to put up with? Ungrateful bitches like me? After all, it could have been four hours, or four and a half.  But it wasn’t.  It was only three and a half.  What was I bitching about.  They did say they were sorry.

Now, the rest of the story…

The desk jockey walked me back to the garage so the mechanic could speak directly to me because the jockeys in the front either don’t know shit from shinola about cars or just couldn’t be bothered to explain it to me.  He walked me through the garage to the last bay where I see half my car’s insides laying on the garage floor, and the explanation I received from the mechanic ‘working’ on her went something like this:  

“Well see, it’s like this…um, ah, I think I know what the problem is, almost sure what it is, it’s definitely in the electronics, and I’m almost certain I can figure it out, but I’m not there yet.  This is a foreign car and I don’t work on many foreign cars. Everything is so small.  I have to remove all this so I can see what I’m doing.”

Perhaps that sounds logical to some.  Admitting you don’t know what you’re doing is not an easy thing to do, one would imagine.  Props need to be given for his honesty.  Right?  But, hang on…for my part, I literally felt and saw the red flag spring up out of my head like the flag on a putting green.  Boinnnnng.

Why?  Because  the dealership I bought the car from, bought the extended service plan from, and entrusted my car to these certified grease monkeys is….yes…an import dealer.

They sell and service ‘foreign’ cars.

Anyone else see a problem here?

Am I expecting too much?  Being unrealistic in my thinking that this import dealership that sold me an imported car and an extended service plan for this imported beauty could actually SERVICE imported cars?  Could actually FIX her should something go wrong?

Mmmmmkay.  Mmmmaybe.

Mmmmeanwhile, in the span of time it took me to pen my frustration..I got the call, from the service manager.  Time to go pick her up.  The somewhat paraphrased conversation follows. Me in italics…

Fixed?

Nope.

Reason?

We don’t have the right equipment to diagnose the problem.

Equipment?

Yes

You mean qualified mechanics?

Um, no. I mean computer stuff.

Oh. My car has its own computer stuff?

Yes, it would seem so.

First time you’ve sold one of these?

No.

So I’m not the first idiot to buy this model car and service plan from you?

I didn’t sell you the car or the service plan.  I just fix them.

Do you?

Well, the ones we sell, yes

Really?  You sold me this one and the premium, high performance service plan to go with it.  You sold me a vehicle that you cannot in fact, service. Correct?

Not me personally, but yes.

Okay.  My options?

You can take it to a Mini dealer.  They can fix it.  And I did call the closest one for you and spoke to their service manager. He said they would honor the extended service plan, you only have to pay the deductible.

That was very nice of you.  So all I have to do is take the short 90 minute jaunt to the nearest dealer that sells and services my particular brand of imported finery every time she needs more than an oil change or state inspection. Correct?

You can call me first. We can talk about it. If it’s something electrical, then yes. If it’s something mechanical, we can try.

Oh right, the computer thing again.  Tell me Denise (we are on a first name basis, Denise and I), can you recall the last two times I brought her in?  Neither was electrical.  Both are mechanical.  And I say are because they are ongoing issues that your mechanics could not seem to fix.  Do you still say I should call and ‘talk’ about these things with you?

I can’t promise anything, but you can try us first. I do apologize.

Thank you for the apology Denise.  Could you do me a favor though?

Sure, anything I can do to help.

And please don’t take this the wrong way, it’s not personal…but could you go fuck yourself?

Cost of gas?  $3.89/gallon

Cost of burning that bridge? $0.00

Cost of employing my new sense of self and old sense of gutter language?  PRICELESS