Our minivan was due for an oil change this week. Okay, technically it was due for an oil change like two months ago, but we’ve been busy. Go ahead and judge, I don’t mind.
Wait, are you judging me for the not getting the oil changed part, or the owning a minivan part? Because we actually own two minivans. But I also have a ’66 Mustang convertible named Miss Lucy, so get off my ass.
Anyway, we dropped the minivan off for the oil change and to have them check out the power steering, and discovered it also needed practically everything else except for a new engine, a new transmission, and new headlights.
So I put up my 401k as collateral and they began working on it. It took a little while, which brings us to Friday. CC had to be at work early, #1 was going to an amusement park, and I was on my own to pick up the car.
Meanwhile #3 was down with Swimmers Ear and we were out of pain reliever so I had to be speedy. I decided to multitask, and jogged down to the dealership, which is only about two miles away.
I used to live in Arizona, and I used to run for real there. Outside. It’s hot, but dry, so as long as you don’t outright incinerate, you can breathe.
In New Jersey, it’s very swamplike. In New Jersey, I’m fifteen years older. In New Jersey, I jog/walk indoors on a treadmill. My little trek to the dealership yesterday was a challenge.
This is probably also the time I have to mention that I’m a sweater. It’s gross, I know, but pertinent to the story. I sweat far more than the average woman human when it’s humid or when I exercise. Lucky for all of us, yesterday both of those applied.
I go into the service center and it’s packed. Full of people mainly in business suits trying to get their cars together to take on trips for this holiday weekend. There’s a counter with juices and tea and bagels and toast. I grab a paper towel from the basket to mop my brow and go stand in line for Rick, my friendly service representative.
As I’m standing in his line, I begin sweating in earnest. People are starting to cast disparaging sideways glances at me. I’m kind of dripping on the floor and I’m afraid some of it is audible. I only wait about ninety seconds for Rick but during that time, my sad paper towel has become the size of a cotton ball, is totally soaked and shredding because I keep trying to use it in a futile attempt to not look like a completely inappropriate mutant.
I get up to Rick and he says, “Woah.”
I’m trying to act like nothing unusual is happening. “Um, I ran over here.”
He stares at me for a second and then says, “Oh, literally!”
Rick then politely ignores my little problem while going over all the fabulous expensive things they did to our car and I’m just dying a little inside because I can’t stop sweating. Have you ever tried to stop sweating? Totally ineffective.
By the time he’s done, I look like I’ve just completed a Bikram class. My only saving grace is that I don’t know anyone here. We get to the part where I have to write a check. I had jogged over with this little wristlet thing that could hold only my license, my phone, and a check. I need a pen.
So I ask Rick for a pen. Somehow, there are none on the counter. I can tell he is debating whether to offer me the pen in his pocket or go find another one. After the briefest of hesitations, he says, “Here, you can use mine,” and hands it to me. I joke back, “I’ll try not to sweat on it,” because we both know that isn’t remotely possible. Then I look down.
Rick, god bless him, has handed me his Montblanc.
Now that’s service.
Have you experienced any extraordinary customer service lately?
Remember to enter the inappropriate puggle caption contest. The fabulous prize is your very one, once twice viewed DVD copy of Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus.
#2, #3, and #5 watched it last night. #5 gave it this stellar review at several points during the action scenes: This movie is awesome!
Word.
JM Randolph, accidentalstepmom 
thank you for making me laugh this morning.. not sure if that was your intention.. but this was a great read. I’m deep in the gallows of my cobweb infested memory trying to find an exemplary customer service story.. sadly, I cannot.
But I will toot my own horn and tell you years ago I used to pump gas for elderly people at a self service gas station (yes, I worked there!). I wasn’t supposed to, but I felt I should and was happy to do so.
It’s the little things that matter… like pens! 🙂
Totally my intent. That’s very cool that you pumped gas for elderly people. I bet they appreciated it. In NJ it’s against the law for us to pump our own gas. Apparently, we can’t be trusted.
LOL… You always make me smile!!!
Great Mustang. I remember when it came out in 1964 for about $2,500. I was 15. Felt it was cooler than a vette.
That is a high compliment! I do like the Vettes, but I’m a Mustang girl for sure.
Hehehehehe…too funny, love the pic of Lucy 🙂 I haven’t driven mine nearly enough this summer 😦
Sadly, Lucy needs an alternator (I think) that I haven’t had a chance to deal with yet. Feeling like I don’t deserve her right now. This week, I promise.
Word. Up.
Hate you because you own Lucy – just ask The Redneck above (note I ommitted the Princess bit – intentional).
😀
I’m a sweater too – although I don’t think I actually drip leaving pools anywhere – 😆 – but you have my empathy!
I wonder if he washed his Montblanc later!
I would have. I would have at least swabbed it with an anti-bacterial wipe.
“But I also have a ’66 Mustang convertible named Miss Lucy, so get off my ass.”
I spit out my coffee with this line. I wish I had a Lucy in my life. Sadly, just a loser cruiser.
When you say “loser cruiser,” I’m picturing an old Ford LTD like the cop cars used to be, which I think would be kinda cool, because people like me still react as if they’re cop cars. I hope you had more coffee.
I almost spit my tea out laughing at your post. Instead it went up my nose. Thank you for such a good read. “…I am a sweater.” Didn’t realize it was a play on words until I read it out loud to my husband. I think of my husband, as a literal sweater, because he is always hot, but he doesn’t really perspire. He’s great to sleep next to on a cold winter night, but I can’t get close to him in the summer.
Tea up the nose, that’s. . . awesome? I am the exact same way with my husband.
A ’66 Mustang was my dream car when I was in high school. Don’t let anyone ever challenge your coolness cred.
Thanks! If the do, I’m sending them your way.
I sweat like a crazy person. I also turn very red at the slightest provocation. If I exert myself in the least I look like I’m going to die. A bit embarrassing.
That car rocks.
So do I!! I hate it! Just the summer heat hitting my skin is enough to turn my face beet red. And when I have to do lifting or a lot of bending at work, everyone always asks me if I’m alright. Hey…I should just be saying no, I’m feeling so dizzy, must sit down and rest…why on earth haven’t I thought of this before?
This weekend was BRUTAL! I did the ol’ 2 mile loop with Uncle Jesse Sat-Mon, and was drenched in sweat all 3 days. I mean, I had a SWEAT V. A sweat V! Like, down my chest! And butt sweat! BTW, did you know shins sweat? Ears, too, I think.
Yep, ears, and shins. All of that. I’d rather not think about it. I just dried off from going outside at lunch.