Car Trouble

So for several weeks the check engine light in my 2005 black VW Golf kept popping on and off. Finally, around the beginning of July I took my car to the VW/Subaru/Audi dealer a half an hour from my house - where I bought my Golf that I love so very very much. If you don't know, I am a V-Dubber for life. No need to argue with me about it. I’m also a Mac owner, and happy to be so. Apparently, I instinctively gravitate towards the artsy brands in life.

Anyway, the service guy called to tell me that all of my problems would cost me $1700 to fix. This included two broken bits and new tires. I said I’d be right in to talk about it, and called my father. My father is two things: a very protective father and a retired auto mechanic who now investigates car fires. He has experience, friends, and a badge, and tends to get angry when he thinks someone is messing with his daughter. So he advised me not to get the tires (something he could easily replace on his own much cheaper) and asked why the broken bits weren’t under warranty. He also wanted a printout of exactly everything the computer diagnosed on my car so he could call his friend who works for VW in some manner higher up on the food chain than a mechanic at a dealer. When I get to the dealership I explained all this to the man who had been working with my paperwork. I asked him why it wasn’t covered under warranty, and his exact words were “Oh, I hadn’t even checked to see. Look at that! You are just under your mileage so it should be all covered!” Other than the tires, of course. So I told him if it was under warranty he could do as he pleased. He said he would call me in a few days when they came in.

I heard nothing for weeks. Finally, on Thursday or Friday of last week I called and inquired about my parts. The mechanic’s exact words after checking to see if the parts I needed were backordered: “That’s weird. The parts are here. I don’t know why we never called you.” So I made an appointment for Wednesday morning at 9 am for a repair that should take 2 to 3 hours.

I dragged myself to the dealership to drop off my car at what I consider the ass-crack of dawn, and the man who checked in my car told me that because of a recall on my car the procedure would take 4 to 5 hours. Luckily, my mom was on her way to pick me up, and we opted to go back to our house instead of staying in town. While I was waiting for my mother a salesman asked me what car I had in the shop. I told him, and he asked me if I’d be interested in trading it in. I laughed and said no. He continued to pressure nicely, as salesmen often do. Then I said, “I would love to, please don’t get me wrong, but I just graduated with two masters and didn’t get a job.” He stopped, looked at me, and said, “oh, uh, okay, uh, yeah, wow” as he took a half a step back. We chatted some more about how my car was doing well for a 2005, and then he asked me what my degrees were in. When I said Shakespeare and Performance he said, “well, good luck! You won’t find anything around here. You’ll have to go to NY for that!” Thanks for the encouragement, sir.

Around 1pm a mechanic called to tell me that while repairing something that had to do with some sort of coolant (I apologize for not knowing more terms. My dad tried to teach me, but I just never caught on. The same happened when he tried to teach me how to bowl – he almost went pro; I almost break 75) they broke another piece in my engine, and my car was currently inoperable. They would have to overnight a part and fix it the next day. Frustrating as this was, it did get me out of work since I had no mode of transportation, so I let this silver lining get me through my mild annoyance.

That brings us to today, when I should have had my car back. But I do not, in fact, have my car back. I called around 1 pm because I needed my car before 3:30 if I was to make it to work on time. The guy put me on hold while he checked on the status of my car. When he got back on the phone he told me that they’d ordered the wrong part, and I wouldn’t be getting my car until tomorrow. But I had to work tonight, I told the man on the phone. I couldn’t call out twice. I mean, I could. But I really really shouldn’t. He offered me a car to borrow until they fixed my car – it was the least they could do, let me drive a shiny VW while they fix my beloved baby. I said yes, and headed to town to get said borrowed car.

Now, all of the above should be what makes me angry. And it does grate on my patience and understanding personality just a smidge. But I never ever get worked up over real problems. Better to deal with it head on than get upset. No, what I got upset about was when the guy handed me the key to my borrowed car it had a bunch of little stars on it instead of a V on top of a W. Bastards gave me a Subaru. A Forester. A fricking Subaru Forester. It didn’t even have a sunroof. Honestly, any key to any car that wasn’t a VW would have made me angry. I’m not even willing to rule out some fancy sports car or awesome muscle car. For all its glory and awesome car-ness, the Mustang is not a VW. So it’s nothing personal against Subarus. It’s something personal against any car that isn’t a VW.

I drove off the lot in the new, not quite awesome for flaws found in the company that made it car and headed home. I pouted all the way while I listened to the radio – what is up with the radio, anyway? When did every musician ever become emo? Why are all the songs on the radio sad, depressing break up songs? Where are all the angry, yet happy about it punk rock bands from the 90’s? Why am I the only person who wants to be upbeat about my depression/depressing lyrics anymore? I want some flagpole sitta and some no rain and some losing my religion. Pair those depressing lyrics with a rockin’ tune, please and thank you. It balances it out for perfect harmony – like sweet and sour. Sorry, I’ll get back to the story about the car.

While I was at work just before 7pm I received a call from the dealership. I missed it because I was, ya know…working. As soon as I could get away I called them back. I wanted to make sure everything was okay with my baby. “Could you transfer me to service? I think they just tried to call me,” I explained.

“Service has been closed since 5,” he said.

“Look, you have my car, it’s in service. Someone from this dealership called me, so I’m assuming it has to do with my car.”

Then he said, “Oh, yes, one of the salesmen likes to go back into the service area where he doesn’t belong to find customers he can call to try to get you to upgrade.”

“That’s nice. I can’t upgrade.”

“Yes, he didn’t belong back there. We’ll leave it at that. Have a good night.” Have a good night indeed as I drive home in my NOT VW.