Dear jackasses who had a chance to do things right, but decided against it:
Listen, I know that you’re not making the usual $85.00 per hour on labor when there’s a parts recall (I am not making that figure up- that’s how much dealer-employed mechanics are billed out at in North Jersey). But when I call up to make an appointment, I expect, oh, I dunno, not to get jerked the fuck around.
The story I got on Thursday: Oh, bring the car in on Monday at 1 PM. We’ll set you up as a service appointment and handle you same-day. That’ll give us enough time to order the part, and, if you need it, we’ll change it for you right there- it’ll take about an hour or so.
The story I got on Monday, after driving half an hour to get there: Well, we don’t have the part in stock, and we won’t know if you need the repair until we pull the whole front end apart, and that’ll take about three hours and we have all these cars ahead of you, so we wouldn’t be able to get to it today, so why don’t you bring it back a week from today in the early morning?
You fucking assholes.
Don’t tell me you don’t have the part in stock. You told me you’d order it. It’s a factory fucking recall. You ought to have those things lying around, since Chevy, being a big company (and one that “encourages” its dealers to maintain certain sales quotas) certainly KNOWS HOW MANY FUCKING MALIBUS YOU HAVE SOLD AND THEREFORE HOW MANY PARTS YOU OUGHT TO NEED. Fix my fucking car.
Don’t tell me you don’t know if I need the repair. It’s a factory fucking recall. Even if my car is undamaged, I want the fucking repair. Chevrolet says I need it, and I trust them over your grifter asses. besides, if my steering ever does go, I’m not letting Chevy off the hook so their lawyers can say “He got a recall notice and chose to do nothing about it.” Fix my fucking car.
Don’t tell me it’ll take an hour when it won’t. Don’t try to scare me with a time estimate and then throw a longer one on top of that. I don’t care if it takes a whole fucking day. It’s a factory fucking recall, not a loose fan belt. Didn’t expect me to come in, did you? So you had to scare me back out, eh? Why would you do such a nasty thing?
Oh, yeah. It’s a factory fucking recall. Meaning you’d have to do the work for free. Meaning you’ve got a bay tied up doing standard-rate work that you can’t use to suck the blood out of someone else. So you’ll do whatever the fuck it takes to keep me from actually getting my repair. Listen, fuckers. Fix my fucking car. Check my file again. You can even skip over the part where it says that my family’s last four cars have been bought here, because customer service/retention obviously means shit to you. Get to the part where it shows what I do for a living, see, right there where it says [UAW official]. You want to fuck with me, jackasses? I’ll fuck with you right back. I took a day off work to come out here and have you guys basically tell me to go piss up a rope.
I’m going to drop my car off Monday morning like you said. Then, when your auto shop opens, I am going to get you jackoffs on a conference call with the business agent for the mechanics and the guy who’s in charge of renewing your franchise license. And then we’re going to see just how bad you want to jerk me around.
I look nineteen. But I ain’t nineteen. And not only am I pissed off, I am in a position to actually do something about it. You took one look at my t-shirt and baby face and figured, “blow him off.” Nice work, fuckstains. Now the excrement is about to strike the blades of the air-circulation device. And it’s gonna get all over you.
I hope you bitches brought umbrellas.