I got ripped off by a car wash the other day. Had just finished excitedly texting J from inside the fluffy wheels of fun (sadly, I love car washes) when the foam stopped mid-spurt, leaving the front half of the car covered in soap and the rest dry as a bone. I went back to try and get a refund from the guy in the shop, who was as intelligent, amenable, capable and fragrant as you would expect of a career petrol station employee. It may surprise you to learn I didn't get my money because he 'couldn't leave the shop to check I was telling the truth' (obviously, I may simply have bottled it 5 seconds into the washing cycle when the big scary twirly things started up and was trying to claim an undue refund).
On Saturday, I followed up this piece of automotive misfortune by paying for, and failing to get, my parking permit renewed. Printer broke, y'see? Told to come back to the council 'any day before 5.30' to pick up the permit - this I duly did, having left work early this afternoon, to find that what they forgot to add was 'oh, except Tuesday. We close at 3 on a Tuesday'. So, permit expired as of today, and my poor, defenceless wee car despatched to the nearest permit-free street to my flat - on the perimeter of one of the area's rougher estates. I fear for it's safety. I'm sure my sleep tonight will be wracked with the distant, mournful parp of a '99 Clio horn, whispering 'why hast thou forsaken me' as local ne'er do wells make off with the wheels and wiper blades.
Not enjoying the car ownership experience at the moment. Involves far too much interaction with idiotic jobsworths who wouldn't know customer service if it knocked them over at high speed before reversing back repeatedly over them.
No comments:
Post a Comment