I finally got around to walking to the dealership Saturday afternoon around 12:30. I walked mostly, but jogged for a bit, so it took me a little under 45 minutes.

The lady behind the service counter: How can I help you?
me: My name is Thomas Garner and I’m here to pick up my car.
(Since I am now indoors, I begin sweating pretty good as it was likely in the upper 80s to 90s outside…)
The lady: I’m sorry, Mr. Garner, but your car isn’t ready yet.
me: WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY CAR ISN’T READY YET?!?
(Well, I didn’t scream at her, but I wanted to.)
She looked at the computer screen and rattled off the work that wasn’t completed yet, and even included some work that we had agreed we wouldn’t do. I took the car in Monday morning early, like 7am. Since I was three timezones away, I wasn’t perfectly on the ball for calling them and keeping tabs on what was going on. But, on Monday, they looked at the tires and brakes. On Tuesday they looked at everything for the 100,000 mile checkup. I don’t know exactly when I talked to the dealer. But what I do know is that on Wednesday I had my auto tech teacher Uncle call them and tell them what should and shouldn’t be done. So, by the latest on Wednesday, they should have known what they needed to do. I even called back on Thursday to confirm that there wasn’t anything on my end that they were waiting for, any go-ahead needed by me. They said that they were good to go. During this call, I mentioned to him that I would be flying in late on Friday and wouldn’t be able to pick up the car then and would pick it up on Saturday morning. That means they had at least two full days to fix whatever it is that needed to be fixed. Three if you now count Saturday. Monday will mark 7 damn days at the shop. He said OK and that he wouldn’t be there on Saturday, leading me to believe that the work would be completed by then. I said that was fine and that was that. It never crossed my mind that I should confirm that my car was actually ready before I made the trek down to the dealership. It was very convenient that neither the technician working on the car wasn’t there, the service point guy who I had been talking to wasn’t there, and neither one of them apparently talk to the lady who was there on Saturday, because she had no real idea about the current status of my vehicle. Joy. So, I walked back to my apartment, taking another 45 minutes of my life. I wasn’t livid, but I was pissed. She said to call Mike first thing Monday morning. Well, great, that just means that I won’t have a car for the weekend — my sole form of transportation. And that’s not a problem because I have 2 months worth of food at my apartment.

It better not really be ready for me to pickup on Monday, them having simply a communication error and Mike being a dumbass to not put into the computer the work that has already been done.

So, until next time…