H is for Hostage

hondaHelp, I’m being held hostage at a Honda dealership in Reno!

OK, that may be a slight exageration. Put more accurately – I am bored out of my mind waiting for my car to get fixed. Why does it have to take an entire day? Really, a whole day to fix the air conditioning? I know this may come as a shock to those who know me, but I will admit that I am no car mechanic. In fact, I only recently learned how to change my own windshield wiper fluid and I am now dam proud of that fact. But do you really need 8 hours of my precious time to figure out the problem and fix it? Isn’t this what you do for a living, Mr. Mechanic?

My favorite part about my day so far – besides driving to Reno in an Ambien-infused haze (I’ll save that for another story) – is showing up for my appointment on-time at 11:15 and having the guy tell me, “Oh, we won’t be able to get to this until 1 pm, because the guys take their mandatory lunch from noon until 1.”

Ummm, you coulda told me that when I called and scheduled my appointment! It’s not like I don’t have anything else to do. Don’t you know about THE WINDOW???? (See my post “Aiming for the window, hitting the wall.)

Thank goodness I had my wits about me this morning to put the kids in daycare. Now, I am spending a glorious spring day in the lounge at the Bill Pierce Courtesy Honda dealership, where they have CNN turned up so loud I think it blew the hearing aid on some old guy. I am starved for food, my only choices being Frito’s or a suspicious-looking Cinnamon Bun or other such junk food in the vending machine. And until a few minutes ago, two extremely bratty kids were driving their poor mother crazy, as well as me, with their constant whining and screaming. At least they weren’t mine.

The Honda folks momentarily got my hopes up a minute ago and I thought I was going to get an early release when they told me they had diagnosed the problem. Good news: warranty will cover it. Bad news: at least three more hours to repair it. I tell you, it’s all a ploy. I bet the mechanics are taking laps around Reno in my sweet Honda pilot right now, just like in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” (minus the filthy car seats in the back).

It’s a strange time warp to be trapped in a car dealership all day, a type of purgatory for pale white people with bad teeth. When I finally get home today – if I ever do – I think I will feel like I lost an entire day, like being sucked into some black hole and then waking up with amnesia.

Until then, I need to search my bag for a quarter. I’m starving.


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