The story goes like this:
8:15am
Me: Hello, NTB? My car needs new brakes, including rotors, and new boots also. Is there any chance that you can fit me in today? The car isn't really safe to drive like it is.
NTB: Sure, I'll put you in for an appointment. When can you get it here?
Me: I'll bring it right over.
I finish up a few things, arrange a ride back to work, and drop the car off before 10:00am. The day passes ... I hear nothing from them, but no news is good news, right?
3:00pm
Me: Hello? I'm calling to check the status of my car?
NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been a small glitch. One of the bolts was giving us trouble, and we kind of foo-bar'd it when taking it off. But don't worry, we're going to fix it on our dime. But we need a part. It's on its way here now, and we'll have the car ready for you in one hour. Is that okay?
Me: Sure ... I work until 5:00 anyway. Just call if there are any more problems.
After work, a friend drops me off. It is pouring rain outside, so I say "thanks" and quickly dash into the store. I wait a few minutes before someone helps me.
5:20pm
Me: I'm here to pick up my car.
NTB: Ooh. Yeah. Well, there's been another small glitch. We got the wrong part. There's another one on its way now, and it will be here in ten minutes. Give us another hour and we'll have everything ready for you.
Me: (groan...) Okay, I guess I don't have a choice. But I really needed to be home on time today, and I still have an errand to run. I don't suppose someone could drive me over to Best Buy (which is just on the other side of a very large parking lot) so I can do that while you finish?
NTB: No, but here's a plastic garbage bag that you can put over your head.
If I had known what I was in store for at that point, I would have wrapped that bag around my head and ended it all. Foolishly, I wrapped the thing around my shoulders and--avoiding suffocation and protecting myself from 32% of the monsoon's wrath--and went dashing over to the big retail electronics chain, with its welcoming blue price-tag facade. I run my errand, which doesn't take nearly long enough. I go next door to a bookstore, and browse the shelves. I am still sopping wet, but starting to warm up. My clothes are getting itchy, and my laptop bag (which is waterproof ... thank god!) is starting to dig a canal of pain straight through the bones and tendons of my shoulder. 40 minutes into my hour, I call back.
6:00pm
Me: Hello? Just checking on my car. Should I buy a book and a coffee, or should I start slogging back there through the rain?
NTB: Ooh. Um. There's been a bit more of a glitch. It seems that your car is a 2001 model, but it was actually manufactured in 2000. So the new part didn't work either. It's going to be another hour. Sorry about that.
My bullshitometer is in the "cow pie" zone at this point, but I have absolutely no choice but to wait ... so I grab a coffee and sit down with a book. Two sips into my caffeine hit, my phone rings.
6:15pm
NTB: Hello, is this Eric? This is [name removed to protect the incompetent] from NTB. I've got bad news. We couldn't get the part we need, and the supply places are all closed. We're going to have to keep your car overnight.
Me: I suppose that it's not drivable ...
NTB: No, we took it apart before we realized we didn't have the parts to put it back together again.
Me: You realize how foolish that sounds. My Grampa taught me to measure twice and cut once when I was only three years old.
NTB: There are really no excuses. I'll make it up to you, I promise.
Me: (trying not to be loud or angry because I am in the sanctity of a bookstore cafe) I'm really not very happy about this. In fact, I'm angry. You've had my car since 10am this morning, and it's routine work. Now I need to get home, and I live an hour away. I'm going to call my wife, who is Scottish, red-headed and aware of how much gas costs. She's going to kill me when I tell her to drive an hour here, and then an hour back home. I was supposed to be home on time today. You are very lucky that I am going to shield you from her wrath.
At this point, I call me wife. Predictably, she is pissed off. I'll spare you the words (which would probably help the page views of this post, as they were very colorful) she used, and skip to the last thing she said, which was "why are we even talking about this? Get them to pay for a rental car - that's a fairly normal service when a mechanic f's up your car." I agree, hang up , and then call my buddies over at NTB. But first, I toss my latte in the trash and head outside so I can talk loudly and angrily if needed.
6:30pmI walk back.
Me: Hello? I can't get home. I'm stranded. Get me a rental car. (I am preparing to get mad)
NTB: No problem - we'll call enterprise right now, and then call you back.
Me: Don't worry about calling me back. The rain has let up, I'll just walk back there now. Just please get the car as soon as possible, because I am very late.
NTB: Sure thing, no problem. (subtext: would we lie to you? No, we're not that smart).
6:40pm
Me: I'm here ... how long until the rental shows up?
NTB: Um, well ... there's a problem. Enterprise is closed for the day.
Me: (now officially pissed) What? Did you call any other rental places? Hertz? National? Budget? It's almost 7:00 ... you've had my car for an entire day ... I'm mad ... I'm wet ... do what it takes to get me a car now!
They start going through the yellow pages, and find a rental car. They're a bout twenty minutes away, so I sit in the meager excuse for a waiting room until they get there. Luckily, "Malcom in the Middle" is on, which is always a good reminder that life could be worse. Fast forward to 7:30, when the rental car gets there: they give the nice rental-car-driver-guy an imprint of their credit card (a corporate Visa), and I say my fair-wells. They insist that they will make it right in the morning. I don't believe them.
At 8:00pm, we pull into the rental place. The Rental Guy says not to worry, because all he has to do is run the card, get me to sign a simple form, and I'll be on my way. Until ...
8:00pm
RG: Uh-oh. You're not going to believe this ...
Me: No ...
RG: Yup ... their card was declined. We can't give you the car without a card ...
Me: Well, let's call [name removed to protect the poor excuse for a pile of primordial poop] and get a different card. They're still open, I think.
RG: We can authorize yours and deal with it tomorrow, if you want ... we won't charge it unless they refuse to pay.
Me: Well, at this point I don't have much confidence that they will pay, or even that they can!
RG calls the guy, and the conversation goes like this: Your card was declined. No, I ran it twice. Well, I have an imprint of the card, so it's not like I typed it in wrong. Uh-huh ... yup ... I understand ... okay. RG hangs up and says that the NTB-lackey is calling his manager and will call back. He tells me that when that when he said the card was declined, the other guy responded, "I was afraid that might happen ..."
This is unbelievable. Even though I deliberately waited a week before posting this, I'm still getting angry thinking about it. They deliberately gave a bad card, just to get rid of me. When the dude finally calls back, its only to say that he couldn't reach his manager and that he would pay cash tomorrow for the car if I put it on my card tonight. I have no choice, I realize, but I'm not going down without a fight.
8:30pm
Me (to RG): Let me talk to him ... (RG hands me the phone)
Me (to NTB): Remember when I was in your office a while ago? remember how mad I was then? Well, now I am even more mad. I am royally pissed. I don;t want to hear any excuses, and I don't want to hear any lies. It's 8:30, and I'm wet, tired, and hungry. What I want you to do is this: think of a very clever way to make me happy, and do it by tomorrow morning when I come to get my car. Goodbye.
And I go home. And I eat. And I sleep. And presumably the NTB staff is thinking of things that will quell my anger, and eating and sleeping. The next day, I go to pick up my car, and this is what they've come up with: three free oil changes. Otherwise known as "diddley squat." Now, three oil changes is worth a bit, so that's not so bad .. supposing that I was willing to give them my car again. I'm not, though. Not ever. I point that out, but my negotiatory shot over their bow goes over the heads. I argue that the labor should be deducted, anything ... but it goes nowhere. In the end, I leave. I am dissatisfied and left with the nagging feeling that I must have done some cosmic injustice to deserve this.
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