Since we’ve already experienced a few snowy drives, it goes without saying the craziest and busiest place to be these days is your local car dealership or mechanic’s shop.
It is winter tire season.
If you have done the conversion already, you already know it's like a scene from an emergency room in a hospital.
There are spare body parts (tires) lined up awaiting the operation.
Patient (car) brought in for intake, put in priority lineup, family member (owner) escorted to waiting room No. 1 (this is where your information is taken and you show them the money) then you are escorted to waiting room No. 2 for an extended period of time for pacing.
If it is really busy your car may have to sit outside. This is akin to a patient getting stuck in a hallway on a stretcher awaiting attention.
I used to detest having to take my car in for service.
I knew they were going to ask me questions I didn’t know the answer to.
Basically, what I know for sure about my car is the colour.
When they start asking me the hard stuff like year, make, model or if the tires are on rims, I am lost.
I have tried to appear smarter by trying to remember the odometer reading upon arrival, but I almost always forget by the time they ask for it.
“When was your last service?”
At this point, I feel like a terrible mother who has no clue when her kid was last at the doctor.
“Ummm, I can’t really recall. Can you check the chart?”
“Are your tires stored with rims?”
“Gosh, I am not sure."
“Well, did the tires look just black or were there silvery metal things on them?”
“Sir, I am lucky I know there are tires. I do, however, know I have a really nifty I Love Lucy steering wheel cover and I can tell you about the Elvis Blue Suede Shoes ornament hanging from my rearview mirror. Would that assist?”
“No!”
Apparently, he is overtired.
I make it out of triage and get settled in waiting room No. 2.
This is where I get excited. At my dealership, they offer a specialty coffee machine, hot cookies, TV, and a newly added massage chair. I wish I could just have my mail forwarded.
Funny thing is no one makes a move toward the chair. It is sitting empty like a beacon in the night. I wanted to so badly, but was bowed by peer pressure.
I go sit beside it thinking I may make a move into the magical heated, massaging, vibrating chair once I scope out the other customers.
There are usually a few easily identifiable types.
There is the one who is reading a book and looks up only briefly over his/her glasses to assess the waiting room.
I call them the Carb-ur-hater. I sense they judge anyone who approaches the cookie tray. They look disapproving anyway.
There is the Dipstick. That’s the person who does not react when the shuttle drive comes to get them for their courtesy ride home. They just seem to sit there silently while the driver searches the eyes of everyone who might need a lift. After some uncomfortable moments, the Dipstick slowly shuffles to the door.
There is usually one Alternator. They’ll will chat about anything alternating between weather to family or from the price of gas to politics.
Hopefully, Alternator doesn’t get seated beside Gear Shift guy. He’s the one who shifts consistently, checks the time, checks his phone, does a walkabout and comes back. He is so tense he should use the massage chair, but he won’t. Tread lightly around him.
There is one Muffler. That is the customer who clearly is annoyed by any conversation. He doesn’t speak, but does wander around picking up trash, refolding the newspapers on the tables and wiping up the counter.
Then you may have met the Idler. They just sit calmly playing games on their phone. Nothing seems to rattle them. They seem to enjoy the rest.
The tire appointment is going to take some time. Make friends. Sit back. Relax. Grab the good chair.
