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Flip That Calendar!
Aug. 1st, 2011 07:13 amRabbit rabbit!
July ended, which meant that I had to get my car inspected. There are all sorts of reasons why I waited until the end of the month this year, many having to do with assisting a commuting teenage daughter, but really, it's my own procrastinating fault.
So, after the adrenalin-fest that was returning home from Vermont on Friday in a torrential downpour (the best kind!), I slept until 11am on Saturday. I puttered about for a bit, then cleaned out the car (only one garbage bag from the back seat this time; I should have made the girls do it, but I had someplace to be). Finally, I drove down to the garage that our mechanic recommends for state inspections.
They don't do inspections on Saturdays. Or Sundays. And August starts on Monday. They direct me to a local gas station, which is exactly the spot I was trying to avoid by getting a recommendation from my mechanic, but I have forfeited my right to bitch about that.
I get there, only to discover that they do inspections on Saturday until 1pm. And it's 1:02pm.
(Insert string of Yosemite Sam's expletives here.)
They have no idea who does inspections on weekends.
I head home; I would have hung my head in failure, but I have some internetting to do. I bark at family, especially the ones who try to hold an inter-floor conversation while I'm on the phone. I sincerely apologize to them later.
So I wind up going to (smack forehead) the auto dealership where I bought my car, which is a whopping one block away from the aforementioned gas station. Really, I should have remembered them. They are a gold-plated outfit (which is why I no longer go to them for maintenance), but for a state inspection, the price is fixed anyway. Nonetheless, they set me up for an inspection, hand me a voucher for their in-house cafeteria (which is upstairs, next to their in-house gym facility), and I get a ham and swiss panini on the house.
Later, when I see thru their picture windows in their cafeteria that my car is being driven out onto the lot, I amble downstairs. I hear the service desk call for "Mormf", which turns out not to be "Mark", but someone named "Moore". Okay, fine, I sit back down. A few minutes later, he tells me that my car is ready, and we do the credit-card thing and I look at the receipt, and it's for someone named "Colleen Moore".
?
Turns out, he had two people named "Moore" in his queue, and when I responded to the first call, he thought I was the second. He voids the charge, hands me the two receipts (one for the charge, one for the void), and we run paperwork again, this time for my car, which was indeed ready. In addition to the state-mandated inspection charge, there is a $2 charge for "parts". It seems that the fuse to the emissions-reading machinery had blown, and one cannot pass a Massachusetts inspection without it, so they put in a new fuse. Okay, I can hardly fault them for that.
I have the correct color #7 on my windshield again. <vuvuzela/>
July ended, which meant that I had to get my car inspected. There are all sorts of reasons why I waited until the end of the month this year, many having to do with assisting a commuting teenage daughter, but really, it's my own procrastinating fault.
So, after the adrenalin-fest that was returning home from Vermont on Friday in a torrential downpour (the best kind!), I slept until 11am on Saturday. I puttered about for a bit, then cleaned out the car (only one garbage bag from the back seat this time; I should have made the girls do it, but I had someplace to be). Finally, I drove down to the garage that our mechanic recommends for state inspections.
They don't do inspections on Saturdays. Or Sundays. And August starts on Monday. They direct me to a local gas station, which is exactly the spot I was trying to avoid by getting a recommendation from my mechanic, but I have forfeited my right to bitch about that.
I get there, only to discover that they do inspections on Saturday until 1pm. And it's 1:02pm.
(Insert string of Yosemite Sam's expletives here.)
They have no idea who does inspections on weekends.
I head home; I would have hung my head in failure, but I have some internetting to do. I bark at family, especially the ones who try to hold an inter-floor conversation while I'm on the phone. I sincerely apologize to them later.
So I wind up going to (smack forehead) the auto dealership where I bought my car, which is a whopping one block away from the aforementioned gas station. Really, I should have remembered them. They are a gold-plated outfit (which is why I no longer go to them for maintenance), but for a state inspection, the price is fixed anyway. Nonetheless, they set me up for an inspection, hand me a voucher for their in-house cafeteria (which is upstairs, next to their in-house gym facility), and I get a ham and swiss panini on the house.
Later, when I see thru their picture windows in their cafeteria that my car is being driven out onto the lot, I amble downstairs. I hear the service desk call for "Mormf", which turns out not to be "Mark", but someone named "Moore". Okay, fine, I sit back down. A few minutes later, he tells me that my car is ready, and we do the credit-card thing and I look at the receipt, and it's for someone named "Colleen Moore".
?
Turns out, he had two people named "Moore" in his queue, and when I responded to the first call, he thought I was the second. He voids the charge, hands me the two receipts (one for the charge, one for the void), and we run paperwork again, this time for my car, which was indeed ready. In addition to the state-mandated inspection charge, there is a $2 charge for "parts". It seems that the fuse to the emissions-reading machinery had blown, and one cannot pass a Massachusetts inspection without it, so they put in a new fuse. Okay, I can hardly fault them for that.
I have the correct color #7 on my windshield again. <vuvuzela/>
