Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The Wheels on the Van Keep on Turnin'...
Just a casual neighborly update on the idiotic minivan situation. I had the vast and all-consuming pleasure of chatting with the owner of the auto body place (I'd post the name but I don't want a bunch of people going to visit their website and making them think they got popular all of a sudden - but if you're thinking of having a car repaired or even buying one in the seacoast area, let me know...). Anyway, the owner's name is Dick. And boy, is he.

He insisted on calling me Katie, which irritates me from anyone who is not a grandparent of mine. And he just repeated the same party lines as Manager John, who graced me with his stunning presence and mind-boggling rhetorical skills on Friday: "I don't know how that could have happened. No one here would have done it. Why would we drive your minivan that far anyway? There's nothing else I can say. Why would someone do that? Why? Why?"

And as I gently, and with clearly too little medication for that level of annoyance, replied, "I don't know why. I don't even care why. I just know that there's a problem with the mileage on my vehicle and I'm unhappy about it." At which point Dick decided that I was pressuring him for money, and he chided me - putz - with, "Well, Katie, there's just no way I could compensate you for something like that. I can't adjust your account, if that's what you're asking."

NO, I'm not asking for that, you pompous twit. It's all covered by insurance anyway, I never spent a dime in the first place. What I'm asking for is either to be proven wrong - which he can't do, because they never actually bothered to write down the mileage on their own, so all we can go by is the mileage from the insurance adjuster of 10 days prior to when I dropped it off - or to be acknowledged and assured that it won't happen again. Which won't happen because apparently Dick is just so chock-full of testosterone that there mere mention of error on his part makes his manly parts shrivel up to the size of marbles.

*Condescending* marbles.


So I've filed a complaint with the Better Business Bureau, who in turn will notify the Attorney General. Because, guess what? I'm not the first person to have this type of problem at this place. FANTASTIC. I hate to be paranoid, but you know, sometimes it's just the only way to be.