A New Regular Read...

Like what I suspect is most people, I have a bookmark menu of comics and columns that I read every day. I've recently decided to add Maureen Dowd to my list.

But here's the best part: everybody dislikes her. The left doesn't like her criticism of Hillary Clinton (nor did it like her criticism of Bill Clinton), and the right doesn't like her criticism of George W. Bush. If you've won two Pulitzers (and she has), and you're ticking everybody off, you must be doing something right.

Additionally...

...happy birthday to arakasi1!

You know what I hate?

I hate having to ask my husband to call the car dealership service department about our car because if I raise one question or make one demand, I'm treated like an unreasonable bitch.

Their service department manager is a twenty-something nitwit who has absolutely no clue regarding customer service, let alone how to handle upset customers. Newsflash: I'm not usually coming in for the pleasure of your company, blondie. I'm generally here because my car broke and my life is on hold until you fix it. Oh, and by the way, I'm not sure how much it will cost, or if I'll be able to pay for it. The situation's kind of high stress, don'cha know. Her complete lack of empathy leads me to believe that she's never had a car stall out or break down under her.

Additionally, she can not seem to wrap her brain around the concept of a hyphenated name. I always have to wrangle with her when I bring the car in.

"What's your name?"

"B*****-T********."

"Huh?" (This is always her response, however clearly I have striven to pronounce every syllable.)

"B*****-T********."  Then I spell the beastie out, making sure to say "Z as in zebra" and "E as in echo" where appropriate.

[Much blinking and brow wrinkling, conveying that WOW my name is HARD, and why couldn't I just have one name like everybody else?] "Uhhh, okay. "

*taps at computer*

"Ummm, I'm not finding it."

"Check under T*********."

"How do you spell that again?"

I spell it, mentally counting to ten.

"What was the first one again?"

I spell that one, counting to ten in German.

"Errr, still not finding it. What's your phone number?"

Around this time, steam starts coming out my ears, because the computer has absolutely no problems printing my bills with the correct, hyphenated name.

Thankfully, the work we're having done today was pre-scheduled (our struts have needed to be replaced for quite some time), but when I walked in at 7:30 this morning, I didn't even get acknowledged. She was the only one in the office, and even though she was with a customer, I still should have gotten, "Hi, hang on, I'll be with you in a minute." In the past I've been treated as though I were deranged because I questioned the fact that the thermometer in our car spontaneously failed twice, and for asking if the replacement were still under warranty. (It wasn't, due to mileage, which I accepted straight off, but she acted as though even the thought was incredibly presumptuous.)

It wasn't always like this.  The service department used to be headed by an absolute stitch of a woman who always gave you her complete attention and who actively sympathized with plights such as, oh, stalling out on Russell St. at the I-95 on-ramp. Then there was some sort of inter-departmental coup, and a bunch of people I liked were suddenly gone, and their thoughtful, funny, empathetic places were taken by these plastic Barbies.

Before anybody suggests it, yes, I'm going to seriously explore going to a different dealership to have work done. But not before I collect my thoughts and write a letter to the General Manager.

Well, there's an up side.

I'm sitting here, blinking. Wow did the VW dealership just make a mother of a mistake.

The good news is, it's not just me. Russel Volkswagen apparently screws with people of any and all genders.

torberg had set up the appointment for today, which included replacing struts, replacing an air filter, and doing a fuel line cleaning. When I got there today, I asked them to replace the windshield wipers as well.

When I went to pick up the car, the bill was nearly two hundred dollars more than we had been expecting. But I paid it and just got the heck out of Dodge.

Got home, presented bill to husband, who promptly said "What the f***?!" Examined bill. They added an air filter cleaning procedure of some sort that was, with tax, responsible for raising our bill roughly $186.

But that isn't even the best part!

Attached to the breakdown was a photocopied letter signed by the Barbie (turns out she's the assistant service manager, mea culpa), which basically states that, if you can't give all tens on the customer survey, please don't fill it out at all and just call us and we'll make it all right.

Wow. Talk about your ovaries of steel.

We're skipping the service manager and heading straight for the regional manager and corporate. This is going to be fun.

Edit: Oh, wow. I just checked out their BBB cred. Yikes.

Edit the second: Okay, I've been corrected. torberg hadn't indicated that he wanted anything done regarding any air filters. But he had wanted the tires rotated. Which they didn't do. Oy.