long time; take note and squint occasionally

After so long a holiday (I use that term loosely) I was inspired today to post something on my somewhat dusty blogspot. Good thing I hired a maid to clean up. Of course she was French and was scantily dressed, without a English word in her. But I digress...

Today, it seemed, was out to get me. Such a futile effort, for I laugh in the face of, uh, days attempting to drive me insane. Firstly, some background: My car was scheduled for a service today (at 7:30am to be exact); I started work at 6am. Problem? Not when you have two caring parents who know how to deal with these logistical and trivial matters. So, I'm at work, doing my job, falling asleep et cetera. During this time, my car is taken into service; from where I parked it, to the "We'll take all your money because warranty isn't actually real" service center. Good job, oh father.

Work itself was the usual "please make it the end of my shift now", with a few minor differences. 1. I actually asked someone to join me for lunch. Ironically I was instead swamped with every other colleague except the one I asked, who showed up when everyone had left. Go figure.
2. By a few, I meant just one.

3pm : I finish work and wait silently to be picked up so I can get my car back. During this time I'm simaltaneously falling asleep and imagining the cost of this service; which, by the way, is mandatory... lest I lose the warranty that covers the second tread of the left tires and only if it's not raining...

3:10pm : I attempt to pick out the hot school girls as my brother ambles over to the car. I then complain bitterly in my head about the lack of said girls.

3:17pm : At the service center now, in my uniform. Badge still on and promptly removed. I prefer to keep them guessing, even though I suspect I'm on record there anyway. To this end I observe that the car wasn't put in under my name. Oh glorious anonymity! I also discover that despite them claiming my car was ready to be picked up, it wasn't. The invoice hadn't been printed, so I was directed to the "Customer Lounge" which involves opening a door and then walking across a driveway.

3:23pm : Inside the Lounge. It has a TV (can't hear it, looked like Mile High was on. Weird show), magazines and, of course, propaganda. I suspect that there are cameras, watching to see the effects of confining customers to this room for waiting.

3-somethingpm : Still inside the Lounge. I adopt the silent, stationary posture. Then I give up and shuffle around restlessly. I see many staff members walk towards the door, but each time my hopes are shattered.

3-gettingnear4pm : Finally, "Shane" shows up with the invoice. It's dull and full of the usual dot-matrixed arbitrary numbers. Labour, for example. I'm convinced that they look at the parts cost and calculate the labour by how close the total is to $300.
Example: Parts: $100. That's $200 away from $300, so the labour should be $200. Of course they minus a random value between $1 and $20 (including cents) to make itappear as if there is an actual logical process to achieving this arbitrary amount. Nobody's fooled.

3:50pm? : I'm ushered to the cashier, who of course is no longer at her post. I'm duly ignored by the "busy" staff. Idly, I study this cashier booth and read the propagandaful (new word) walls. Getting slightly disgruntled, I lean on the counter in a way I hoped said "I'm getting impatient."

3:55pm : My desire to choke someone dissapears when a different cashier arrives. She was blonde, short and cute. Obviously a clever tactic used to appease customers who have been waiting for so many minutes and seconds.

3:56pm : I bust some low-level moves on her. Meekly, she apologises after my clever and funny statement about standing around. I was considering using this moment to say the charming "How about making it up to me with dinner tonight?", but chose not to after remembering I was still in uniform and my hat is labeled with "The Man." Also, I didn't have my curls displaying prominently. Those guys need to be seen before I work my magic. And finally, the guy behind was a nuisance, and I didn't want to give away any of my tactics to him. The cashier's name was Jackie. She was amused by my humour. Plus one for Pary.

The lesson for today is simple: There is no Warranty, only rediculous prices. Or, to quote "Shane" : "Basically, warranty only covers mechanical parts..."
Kick arse. I'll remember that when the engine gives in. Oh wait, that wouldn't be covered either, because the warranty will be expired. Jubilation!

Despite all this, I'm in a good mood. It's all quite amusing. Today, then, is a slightly Milo day. =]

Take care my faithful readers
- Pary .ζ.