THE COURTESY CAR

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.