I’ve ranted on here once or twice (!) about our rubbish car. The one that comes back with more faults than get fixed every time I take it to get something fixed. Sometimes that’s the garage’s fault, other times it’s just the stupid car falling apart. Example, and here too.
Well, the same old Carnold Lark who gave us such grief last year have been trying very hard to mend their ways. We got a letter through the door last month offering us a free check-up and tweak service. Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course they’re going to find stuff to fix, eh? But I was struggling to find time to check and top up oil, or find the manual so I could figure out how to open the bonnet so I could fill the screen washer*… So I figured it would be worth doing next time I’d be in town for a few hours anyway.
* I am actually ashamed that I drive a car most days and don’t know how to open its bonnet or do basic maintenance on it. But things have changed a lot since I first drove a Ford Escort and could do most of the maintenance myself with my trusty Haynes manual and a lot of swearing and banging and desperate hoping.
ANYway, sure enough, I was advised that the front brake discs and pads needed replacing for costalotta. I reported this to The Boss who merrily announced that oh yeah, they’d said that at the last service. Sheesh. As he forgot, I delegated to him the task of phoning around for quotes and beating people down on price.
Carnold Lark did their best and actually came up with a good price. Even more importantly, they were happy to drive me and Mini Minx home after dropping the car off with them, then delivering the car to our house afterwards, free. Brilliant! So after a lot of toings and fro-ings, it was all set: we had a date and time when they could shuttle us around and could get the job done between nursery runs.
I pitch up with car, baby and big car seat, gratefully get driven back home again… to get a phonecall. “We can’t find your locking wheel nut”. Oh pants. Quick phonecall to The Boss, who insists it’s where it’s supposed to be and has always been. He calls the garage and describes its location. Garage call me back: “We’ve searched everywhere and can’t find it. You’ll need to rebook”. Cue incredible amounts of apologising and grovelling from me for wasting their time. Mr Very Nice Man drives the car back to me, I apologise to him, then greet The Boss on his return home that night with a dark look. He returns the dark look with a murderous one, when he produces the locking wheel nut from precisely where he said it was located.
We *could* have called Carnold Lark back to moan about their blind mechanic, but och, I gave up. I am beaten.
A week later, I jumped through a hundred more hoops to get the car dropped off and the brakes etc. replaced and get it delivered back ‘in time’ for the nursery pick-up run (only an hour late… GRRRRRR!)
If anything else goes wrong with that stupid car I shall attack it with a sledgehammer. I own one, I like its heaviness and I think I would enjoy pounding hell out the blasted thing very much.
PS Photo taken from an interesting blog about 2 travelling airline employees – click on the photo to go there directly.