I get a call from one of our customers. It should be noted that our area has recently suffered some bad flash flooding.

Caller: “So… I spilled coffee over my dashboard.”

Me: “Okay.”

Caller: “And I didn’t have anything to wipe it with, so I turned to where I knew a store would be, but the road was flooded. I pushed through, but the water was pretty deep. But I made it! But now my engine won’t start.”

Me: “Well, it sounds like you floo—”

Caller: “Do you think the coffee damaged my car?”

Related:
Wake Up And Smell The Coffee
 

I am dropping off my car at a nearby shop to get some cosmetic work done on it. I have asked my grandma, who lives next to me, if she can pick me up at the shop — a twenty-minute drive — and drop me off at the car rental place that’s on the way back. She agreed, and I texted her the address and told her I would call her when she should leave as I didn’t know how long we would have to go over the details before handing off my keys. 

Me: “Hey, I’m almost to the shop; now should be a good time for you to leave.”

Grandma: “I’m already here.”

Me: “Why? I told you I would call you.”

Grandma: “I had to go shopping this morning and figured I would drive straight here, so I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”

I don’t say anything because I have long given up on her level of crazy and just drive to the shop. I pull in, and… she’s nowhere to be seen. I call her again.

Me: “Where are you?”

Grandma: “I’m at the shop. Where are you?”

Me: “You’re at the wrong address. I’m standing by a sign advertising the business name, so don’t even bother trying to say I’m at the wrong place.”

Grandma: “Well, where is it, then?”

Me: “When you turned onto the road, it was the first turn on the left. I’m right across from the cemetery.”

Five minutes later, she calls me back.

Grandma: “You told me wrong. I drove past the cemetery and didn’t see anything.”

Me: “No, I said across from the cemetery. I’m staring at it now. I’m standing in the middle of the driveway, and you can see me from the road.”

Finally, she pulls in.

Grandma: “You gave me the wrong address. You said it’s 426, but this is 428.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. Google Maps says 426, the mailbox says 426, and the business says 426. You think they all got it wrong, but you somehow know better?”

Grandma: “No, you gave me the wrong address.”

Back during the peak of That Virus Which Shall Not Be Named, I put a lot of miles on a classic car I own. The car was comfortable to drive, gas was cheap, and it beat dealing with the airlines (and largely service-free airports) at the time. The car had one part that was… troublesome, and that was the fuel pump. Said fuel pump died on me three times in short succession — the first time because it was about fifty years old, and the next two times because of cheap replacements dying after a few thousand miles.

The first two times, I had it replaced within about one or two business days. It was annoying but not as much of a problem as you’d think since the car is pre-catalytic converter, so the fire risk is more limited. The third time, it failed due to the new one being improperly installed; they used the wrong screw and it broke loose. After a spectacular, holiday-induced failure from AAA — they failed to get me a tow truck for about eight hours, resulting in a police tow as morning rush hour began after a passing officer spoke with my father — I had the car towed into the chain where I’d had it installed for a (second) under-warranty replacement.

Now, the part appeared in the system quite easily; it was the same part for basically every GM car in the system from the 1960s and 1970s. I easily pulled it up. Then, I spoke to the head mechanic at the shop.

Head Mechanic: “The first shop shouldn’t have installed this, and the second one shouldn’t have replaced it under warranty.”

Me: “That’s not really my problem. They did.”

Head Mechanic: “Well, this might take us a few days to find. You might have better luck elsewhere.”

Me: “That’s fine. I’m not paying more to have the car towed elsewhere. This is under warranty with you, and the other shops didn’t have this problem.”

Head Mechanic: “Actually, it might take us a full week to find the part.”

Me: “That’s fine. I’ve got a hotel I can use points at, and my parents are in the area, so I can visit with them.”

Head Mechanic: “Fine, but we’re not responsible if this takes a while.”

I was getting bored with the exchange.

Me: “Like I said, I understand.”

You can guess how shocked I was when I got a call at the end of the next day saying my car was ready to get picked up. So much for that hard-to-find part!

I got the fuel pump replaced with a more reliable electronic model a few weeks later. The new one hasn’t failed in the subsequent two years or 25,000 miles since.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Injury/Death

I was hired to paint a backlog of repaired cars in a makeshift auto body shop. They had done a quick installation of an old spray paint booth. The exhaust fan ducts were routed out through a window at the back of the building.

I was under a lot of pressure to paint several repairs the first day, so when the fan system and ducts made a lot of noise each time they turned it on, I figured I would look into it after the backlog of cars was done.

At the end of the day, the boss called me into his office where I saw a woman sitting in the customer chair. She was crying so hard that her makeup was running down her face. He told me to take her keys, go out back and get her car, and handle it!

So, without saying a word, I took the keys with the Cadillac key fob from the table and went on my way out back to a public parking lot behind our shop. It was there that I saw why she was crying so hard. Her white Cadillac was parked under the window where my fan system was.

The car was covered from front to back with blood and feathers… along with various other pieces of several pigeons that were inside my fan system each time I used it. The installers forgot to put a screen over the exit.

The boss seemed to think it was all my fault. Oh, well.

My mother and I have shared an apartment for several years now, and we like it like that. For the last several years, I’ve become completely disabled. We decided to get rid of my mother’s car because it had the higher payment and she’d just drive mine. It just needed a battery and tires.

It had to be towed to the shop. Being chatty as she is, my mother was talking to these guys (including some other drivers and customers) about my situation, how I’d just had brain surgery that messed up my arm, hand, and leg, and my other issues.

Without telling her, one driver paid for the battery for our car, and when my mother got home she told me this.

Mother: “The guy at the shop said we didn’t need tires, but I’ve determined that he did, in fact, put brand-new tires on the car without charging me!”

It was crazy. Things like that don’t happen to me. I’m the person who gets screwed over by the world. I help people and always pay a price for it, so for people to do that for us was absolutely amazing to me. I was so grateful I cried.