The Sitcom Continues
The husband only likes us to put gas is the car from recognizable gas stations. So BP, Shell, Mobil, but really not anyone else. So with the gas light on, I drove past many gas stations before we saw a BP. This BP was on the street just up the road from the expressway on ramp of doom.
That on ramp and the street leading to it were so full of potholes, that’s where the trouble with the wheel started.
Before we got to the on ramp of doom, we pulled into the gas station. The husband gets out to pump the gas even though I’m driving because he’s wonderful and spoils me and let me stay comfortable in our seat.
Our friend had to use the bathroom, so he got out to go into the gas station. He asked me if I wanted anything, so I requested salt & vinegar potato chip. I totally heart salt & vinegar potato chip. The way to my heart is through my stomach via salt & vinegar potato chips. It’s that serious.
As I was waxing poetic about the potato chips in my head, our friend is back in the car 30 seconds later. I know there’s no way he’d have the chips by then, so I turn around and get ready to forcefully demand an explanation.
Before I could even spring my tough questions on our poor unsuspecting friend (who had no knowledge of my love affair with salt & vinegar potato chips), he launches into a mini tirade because the store was empty.
Saying a store is empty requires clarification, so I asked what he meant because I couldn’t see inside the store.
He meant the store was truly empty. Nothing on any of the shelves. No employees. No bathroom. No nothing. But for some reason, the light was on so you could see all of the nothingness inside. I’ve never seen an empty store at a gas station with all of its gas pumps fully functional.
My concern about the chips disappeared because now I just felt bad for our friend who couldn’t go to the bathroom. By this time, the husband is back in the car and he’s upset because the gas pump couldn’t provide him with a receipt because it was out of paper.
He was considering complaining to the clerk inside, and our friend had to explain that there was no clerk, which was also probably why there was no paper for receipts.
We pull away from the gas station all shaking our heads and I realize there’s a huge truck blocking the street. It’s one of those city maintenance trucks, and it’s literally parked in the street, parallel to oncoming traffic. There was only one lane open to get around it, and it was the lane furthest away from the gas station.
The light was about to turn green, so I quickly pulled out and around the truck to that far lane. As I pulled around the truck, I immediately hit the first of several potholes. And it was just downhill from there. Unavoidable pothole after unavoidable pothole. You all know the rest of the story.
So we’re fast-forwarding to the husband taking the car for service.
It turns out the tire needs replacing. And the rim has a pretty bad bend in it. And there was a problem with the suspension and wheel alignment. But as far as they could tell, there was nothing wrong with the axle.
In true sitcom style, we were both wrong.
I thought I broke the axle by hitting all those potholes. The husband thought a tire change alone would solve the problem. Neither of us were correct.
But the ridiculousness (is that a word) doesn’t stop there. The shop that the husband went to for our car issues refused to fix the car. You read that right.
They said they couldn’t fix the suspension or rim problem, and sent him to another shop.
In true NYC poor ass customer service style, the second shop told him the first shop should’ve been able to handle the problem. It’s like calling any 1-800 here, they just transfer you back and forth until someone finally gets frustrated and addresses your concerns.
The second shop told him if he decided to stay there to get the car fixed, he’d have to come back because they were too busy to help him.
So he drove the car home.
He plans on calling Geico today both to complain, and for another place he can take the car to because he doesn’t want to deal with either place.
I told him as long as it’s handled before he leaves town next week, I’ll be happy. I really don’t have the time to take a car to get fixed. Or worse, what if it breaks down further and I’m not able to move it around to follow our streets ridiculous parking rules and we get a bunch of tickets?
He’s promised he will handle it. But since we live in a sitcom, I have my doubts. Wish the husband luck!