Note: This is the second installment of a three part post. The story will conclude tomorrow.
So there I was at the Ford dealership in Chicago. I was desperate to have my car serviced but they wouldn’t touch it because it was a Chrysler. They were, however, kind enough, to give me the name of the nearest Chrysler dealership. I also got the number of Ford service, but they were no help because I didn’t have any of my extended warranty paperwork with me. It just so happened my crystal ball had smashed that morning and I had no idea I’d be in need of such paperwork in Chicago.
I found the Chrysler dealership the Ford people had directed me to, but their service department was closed for the weekend. I talked to a very nice man with a sympathetic look on his face as I described my ordeal and pointed to the two ladies in my car who had very early bed times and really must get home that night. The very nice man with the sympathetic look gave me the name of yet another Chrysler dealership who might be open to taking my car. I asked him to call to confirm. I was like, “Dude, I’ve been all over this city today trying not to cry and look like a stupid lost tourist, so please just make the call for me.” He did, and I was sent on my way.
The thing is, this other Chrysler dealership was open but their service department was not. So the nice, sympathetic looking man who told me their service department was open was really a lying SOB who just wanted to get rid of me. At that point I was done. I asked the dealership if I could use their phone and left the most pathetic, tearful message for Nathan on our answering machine because he was still out golfing with my dad. After that, I called the dealer who sold me the stupid car and left a similar message for the salesman we worked with, who was also not available. After that I sat in that strange office for a few minutes and just bawled my eyes out.
As luck would have it, the second Chrysler dealership was just a couple of blocks down from a car rental place, and I made arrangements to rent a car and leave my clunker with the Chrysler people. They couldn’t even start fixing it until Monday, but at least I had a plan in place.
All I really wanted to do was go home, but my mother and Marge convinced me to at least try to have some fun and do what we came to Chicago to do. Personally, I would have preferred to leave the two of them there with money for train tickets back home, but I figured I’d try to salvage something out of the day even though I was pretty sure nothing was gong to make me feel better.
After all was said and done, we made our way home in a tiny Chevy Metro and I collapsed in a heap in Nathan’s arms that night. But that’s not where the story ends. My car was broken, I was driving a rental, and I was pretty sure I’d be heading back to Chicago soon.
It wasn’t soon enough.