So, I dropped my car into the dealer this
morning for its 45,000km service. Forget
that I’m sitting in the 50,000’s somewhere; Charlie and I are going to Canberra
early in the new year, and I want my wheels in tip-top condition for the road
trip.
Now, I dread taking my car into this dealership,
because every time I do, I have to face two things that piss me off.
Firstly, there are several people that work the
service department front desk at the dealership, but I always seem to cop the
same chick. She is so rude and abrupt,
that I’m left to assume that she is either married to or fucking one of the big
bosses there, because I simply cannot understand why they keep her employed.
From this point on, we shall refer to her as….
Barbie. Fitting name, really,
considering she’s blonde, plastic, and inflexible, but providing someone out
there with hours of entertainment.
The second load of crap I have to endure, is
that they stuff up my courtesy car booking every
time.
So as I walked through the glass doors of the
service department this morning, I steel myself, as there behind the counter,
is Barbie.
Fucken great.
I walk up to the counter, and Barbie is on the
phone to someone, and in true form, she maintains her high standard of customer
service, and completely ignores me.
When I was in business college (about three
hundred years ago), I was taught to acknowledge someone’s presence, even if you
were not in a position to be able to speak to them. Clearly, Barbie was not a graduate of the
Dandenong Ladies Business College, as was I.
Pfftt.
So she finishes her call, turns straight to her
computer, and starts impersonating David Helfgott; bashing away at her keys. Still no acknowledgement.
‘Any time you’re ready, love.’ I say, and she
turns to look at me. ‘Please…’ I hold up my hand. ‘I would hate to interrupt you whilst you’re doing your job…’ that one flew over her
head, hit the back wall, and smashed into a million pieces.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ she
says with quite an effort.
No. I’m
just standing in the service department of a car dealership because I fucking feel like it! ‘My car is booked in for a service. Can you help me with that, or do I need to
speak to someone that actually works here?’
Again, back wall.
‘I work here.’ She blinks at me, and turns her
attention to something on her desk that I can’t see. ‘What name is it booked under?’
‘Buttler.
Buttler with two tees.’
She seems to be scanning down some kind of
list. ‘Lee?’
You’re kidding, right? How many fucken Buttlers with two tees do you
have on your list? ‘Yep. That’s
me.’ I said, dumping my keys on the
counter.
‘You’re in for a forty-five thousand service?’
‘Yep.’
‘What’s the reading of the odometer at the
moment?’
‘Somewhere in the fifties.’
‘Oh,’ she looks over the top of her glasses at
me. Clearly, these glasses are designed
to give the illusion of intelligence. I know better. They failed. ‘You’re quite over, aren’t
you? You know; it’s not good to go so
high over your service.’
‘Oh!’ I laugh.
‘I’m sorry! I didn’t realise you were a mechanic…’
‘I’m not…’ she blinks.
‘Really?
Well let’s leave the mechanical stuff to them then, shall we, and you
can give me my courtesy car so I can be on my way.’
She blinks a couple of times, then turns her
attention to what I assume is another list that yet again, I cannot see. ‘What name was the courtesy car booked
under?’
Whose fucking name do you think it would be
booked under? For a fleeting second, I seriously consider giving her a false
name, but knowing my luck, she would start looking for it. ‘Buttler?
Buttler with two tees?’
‘There’s nothing here on the list for
Buttler. Could it be under any other
name?’
‘Why would it be? I’m the one that needs the car.’
‘It’s just not here...’ she frowns. ‘Looks like we have a problem…’
‘Correction; you
have a problem. I’m all good.’
‘Well, there’s no booking here for you, so
you’ll just have to wait in the courtesy lounge for the service to be
completed. The service lounge is just
around the corner to your right…’
‘I don’t think so, champ.’ She just blinks at me. ‘I booked this service in three weeks ago to
secure a courtesy car. I expect one.’
‘But we don’t have one booked for you. Who took the booking?’
‘Same guy that booked my car in for a service. I was pretty specific about the courtesy car,
as this is not the first time this has happened.’
‘Oh… well, it’s not here, so I can’t help you.’
She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. Here we fucken go.
‘Wrong answer, love.’ I sigh. ‘I’m now starting to believe that there is
some kind of conspiracy going on at this dealership, because the last three
times I’ve booked my car in for a service, I’ve had this exact same problem.’ I
explain. ‘I book it in, and you
conveniently don’t have it on your list.
Every time.’
‘Well…. I can’t explain that…’
‘No, I’m sure you can’t.’ you fucken light
bulb. ‘I need a car to get to work. The end.
Please organise a vehicle for me.’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. You’ll have to wait.’ She says firmly.
Really?
Mmmm… ‘Is that your final answer?’
‘That’s the only answer I can give you.’ She
says, a little unsure now.
‘Fair enough.
Get the manager.’
‘Why?’
‘Because clearly, you can’t help me anymore, and
I need to speak to someone that can actually fix this problem, and not just
shove it aside.’
‘The manager won’t be able to over ride what
I’ve told you…’
‘Why? Are
you in a higher position than he is?’
‘Well… no…’
‘Then get the manager.’
‘He won’t be able to fix this….’
I sigh heavily in an attempt to calm my boiling
blood. ‘The last thing you need, is for
me to go in there’ I point to the showroom ‘and ask for the General Manager,
because if that happens, the shit’s gonna hit the fan. Please don’t make me ask
again.’
Barbie looks at me, sizes me up, and stands so
abruptly, that her chair goes flying across the space behind her, and slams
into the filing cabinet. She turns and
walks out of the reception area, and I hope, in search of the Manager.
This is gonna get interesting…
‘What seems to be the problem, Mrs Buttler?’ the
manager says through a forced smile as he strides into the service area. Barbie had magically vanished… possibly
sooking out the back there somewhere… whateva…
‘Well, I don’t really have a problem, champ; you
do. Once again, it would appear that a courtesy car has not been organised for
me.’
‘Did you book one in when you booked in your
service?’ he asked, flipping through, what I assume, were the bookings.
‘Of course I did.’ I sighed. I’m over this now. ‘You see, this is not the first time this has
happened, so I have had plenty of practice remembering to book the courtesy
car.’ He looked at me, perplexed. ‘Once I
can forgive; but this is the third time
you have hot organised a courtesy car for me.’
‘Three times?’
‘You clearly don’t recall a conversation I had
with you several months ago about this very issue, do you?’
‘Ahh… no…’
‘Of course not.
You speak to hundreds of people a week, why would you remember me?’ I rolled
my eyes, momentarily becoming a teenage drama queen. Jade would be proud.
‘When I booked my car in for its first service, I
was told I couldn’t have a courtesy car because I’d left my booking too late,
so I booked it in to a dealership closer to work so one of the boys could pick
me up. The whole reason for me buying a
car from this dealership, apart from the price, was so I could get it serviced
when I came down to work. I live in the
country, and this dealership is on the way into the city, and I can drop my car
off and take a courtesy car in to work.
Anyway, when I called back to cancel the service
I had booked with this dealership, you
answered the phone’ and I pointed at him ‘and asked me why I was cancelling the
service. We had a lovely little
discussion about it, and you assured me that I would always have a courtesy
car, as I come in here so often. All you
asked is that I give you at least two weeks’ notice when booking my service.
Now, I have kept my end of the bargain. You have not kept yours.’
‘What I can do for you is organise a demo car
for you to take. How does that sound?’ he
smiled happily.
‘Fantastic!’ I said sarcastically. ‘As long as it’s an auto, I don’t give a crap,
mate. Just get me a car so I can get the
hell out of here. I’ve already wasted
enough time, and I’m gunna be late for work.’
‘Fair enough.
I’ll be back in a moment...’
‘No worries, champ. I’ll be here.’
He came back a few minutes late with a set of
keys, and we went through all of the paperwork bullshit that goes along with
taking a courtesy car these days. It’s
like I’m gonna do a runner with their car.
Newflash: you have mine, fool!
‘I would also suggest that you have a chat to
your receptionist,’
‘Why?’
‘Because she was nothing short of rude from the
moment I walked in, and like the damn courtesy car, it’s not the first time I’ve
copped her attitude.’
A smirk flittered across his face for just a
moment, and I got the distinct impression that it wasn’t the first time he’d
had this complaint. ‘Shall do. I apologise if she has upset you in any
way. Please don’t let your opinion of
her reflect upon the dealership. We do
strive to provide good customer service…’
‘Get rid of her, and you will achieve it quite
easily. If she’d handled the situation
more professionally, you and I wouldn’t be having this discussion.’
‘Fair enough.’
So I took my little red hatchback, and hammered
the crap out of it all the way to work.
Drove it like it was fucken stolen.
That’ll teach ‘em.
I wonder if Barbie will be there when I go to
pick up the car?
Peace out.
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