Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Dumbest People in America

Confession: Josh and I are in the running for the Dumbest People in America award and we are front running contenders.

A few weeks ago the interior light in my car would not go off. As we drove home from a family trip to the Farmer's Market with the light blazing over head, I could see Josh fuming as he drove home.

When we pulled into the driveway, I swept the kiddos into the house as Josh tackled the owners’ manual of my MV, which we bought brand new less than a year ago. It should also be noted, I have NEVER read the owner manual of the MV or any car I have ever owned for that matter. I like to live dangerously.

Josh stomps in the house mumbling words under his breath. I could not pick out specific words, but if I were a beating lady, I would guess they were not happy words.

Pman saw Josh grab some tools, so armed with his blue and yellow plastic screwdriver and hammer, he followed Josh to the dark driveway in an attempt to fix the light. They both returned to grab a flashlight.

The only one we have is a dinosaur one that roars when it is turned on and projects a beam of light about 3 inches long.

After about 40 minutes, the boys come back inside holding a tiny fuse. Josh turned on the computer. After a few moments of research, Josh tells me that he thinks it is a recall issue with the car and places the fuse in a safe location inside the car (the driver side arm rest). He instructs me to call the dealership on Monday.

Several Mondays later, I do call the dealership. I set up an appointment to bring the car in and also scheduled an oil change and tire pressure check as both of those lights came on in the interm. Josh set up a rental car for me because, "[I] have two kids to deal with all day and I need a car."

His words, not mine. Sweet.  I tried to tell him it was not necessary.

On Tuesday night the kidlettes and I met Josh at the car rental place on his way home from work. The rental process took an hour. Then we headed over to the dealership to drop off my car. At this point we had to switch the car seats from my car to the rental.

Hell is the only word that describes the events that unfolded in the process of transferring those seats. Words were yelled.

People were sweating.

Stomachs were growling.

Babies were crying.

The seats were installed. We moved on with our evening, which included taking the crew out for dinner to share our frustration, tears and general misery with other diners.

The next day at 9:30a.m. the dealership called and this is how the conversation went down:

Dealership: Hi, um Mrs. Phillips? Your car is ready.
Me: Ready? That can't be. Did you fix the light?
D: Yes. We saw the fuse and we plugged it back in and of course the interior light came on...
Interrupting M: Yes. (in this one word I managed to be bitchy, arrogant and entitled- it's a talent)
D: ummhummmum- yes, well. Then we just turned down the interior switch and the light dimmed until it was off.
M: oh. I will be there in an hour to pick up the car. Did you change the oil?

In the end, the evidence shows we rented a car to get the oil changed and we paid $130 for that oil change.

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