I have a flat tyre on my motorcycle. I get a replacement quickly enough, but now I am phoning around for a place to actually mount the new tyre to my rim, on short notice, since the weather is good today, and I want to enjoy it while it lasts.

This is the first place I call. The lady answering the phone doesn’t SOUND like she’s a mechanic herself, so I assume she’s a secretary.

Secretary: “[Secretary] at [Auto Shop], what can I do for you?”

I explain my situation, stressing that it’s important to me that this happens quickly.

Me: “I know it’s short notice, but is there anything you can do?”

Secretary: “I don’t think [Mechanic] has time for that today.”

Me: “I understand, but could you please ask him anyway?”

Secretary: “Yes, sure. Please hold.”

Then, she says something a little quieter as though she’s holding the handset just slightly further away, but it’s still very audible for me.

Secretary: “Stupid b****.”

I looked at my phone in shock for a second and then just hung up. Was I really that rude to ask them to talk to the mechanic about it?

The next place I called fixed my tyre within an hour, by the way, and they were very friendly the entire time.

My mother decides to get her Mercedes inspected just routinely at a garage instead of just having me inspect it.

I’m VERY mechanically inclined; I’m sixteen and have already done two engine swaps, and I’m building a track car soon. I’ve done everything from Alternator to Yolk (driveline). (I would have said a car part beginning with Z, but hey…)

She takes her 2004 E500 to some sorry excuse for a Mercedes garage. When it’s there, they ENCOURAGE me to go into the waiting room. RED FLAG!

These guys just jack the car up and start looking underneath at stupid stuff like the exhaust. LIKE, WE F****** DROVE IT THERE SOUNDING FINE! They take off the rims, which I have never seen for an inspection.

When they’re finally done molesting my mom’s car, they give her a quote sheet for recommended repairs: struts ($900+ a corner), air suspension leak (small, so we can live with it), brakes (I just did them 500 miles ago), and CV joints (it really just needs boots).

My mom looks at it and goes:

Mom: “Okay! Do you guys take credit cards?”

At that point, I was furious. I called the guy out on brakes and suspension, and I told my mom I’d do it myself. She refrained from paying the shop, and my dad agreed.

She’s not allowed to take any car to any shop now. I saved her probably $2,000 in “repairs”.

In the auto repair business, we must deal with a lot of passive-aggressiveness from people who are displeased with having to shell out money for their cars.

A couple arrives to pick up a car that is parked in the first spot nearest the street. The husband is great and has approved the needed repairs in stride; the wife… not so much.

Wife: “What is this charge for?! We didn’t approve that!”

Wife: *To her husband* “This is my car, not yours! Why did you approve all of this unnecessary s***?!

Wife: “This is ridiculous! We just needed an oil change! What’s all this other s***?!”

Wife: “You’re all a bunch of criminals! These repairs are just made up! Why did you fix this?! We need that cost taken off!”

The husband was trying to calm her down and explain through all these accusations.

Finally, they made their way toward the office, but the wife made a beeline for the car, found the keys stashed inside, threw the plastic seat cover to the wind, and then started it up, driving off before the bill had been paid.

She cut the turn too sharp and scraped the ENTIRE passenger side of the car badly on the low concrete planter. I saw this happen; the husband didn’t. He apologized, paid, and left in his own car.

We never saw them again.

My auto shop is a miserable place to work with miserable management. I live about fifteen minutes from the store and will routinely work an hour or two past my shift to help the manager close up and tally cash sale receipts (we were mainly wholesale so the cash receipts were a small portion of the sales and had to be tallied by hand), as take out the trash, prep and stage the first deliveries for the next morning, as well as sweep the storefront.

I don’t mind doing these things because I get a little overtime out of it, get in the good graces of the manager (or so I think), and being that even though my drive home is short, staying a little late and letting traffic die down is fine with me.

One morning I walk in at about 9:07, when my shift was scheduled to start at 9 AM. I don’t see what the big issue was since I have been staying late every day for months helping my manager close the store.

If he had said something along the lines of “Hey, you’re late and I know you worked long yesterday, but let’s still get here on time.”

But that isn’t what he says. He flies off the handle.

Manager: “You need to work your schedule! We have schedules for a reason. You need to be at work for the schedule that I made for you!”

Well… since I had been staying late for months to help him close the store (it’s against policy to not have at least two people in the store at a time) despite it not being “on my schedule”, this rubbed me the wrong way. I convince myself that instead of causing a scene and yelling, I will just do EXACTLY what he says. 

5:30 PM rolls around (we close at 6 PM) and I stand in front of the computer until it hits 5:30 exactly, clock out, and start walking towards the door.

Manager: “Where are you going?!”

Me: “Home.”

Manager: “What? Why? Who is going to help me close the store tonight?”

Me: “I don’t know, but you made it very clear I was to “work my schedule”. So, I get off at 5:30, it’s now 5:30, and I’m going home.”

And I walk out. The next morning, I get there at 8:55 and just stand in front of the computer until it hits 9:00. Phones ringing? Too bad, my shift hasn’t started. Deliveries need to go out? Sorry, I’m not on the clock yet.

I clock in at 9:00, and then clock out at 5:30. Same conversation as the day before about who was going to help him close.

The third morning I walk in, and he waits for me to clock in, then pulls me aside to talk to me.

Manager: “You know, I think we can overlook a few minutes in the morning if you stay and help me close.”

Me: “Oh, interesting. I thought I was supposed to just work my schedule.”

Manager: “Yeah, well, I guess we can overlook that.”

I had very few problems with this manager after that little exchange.

I know that this was by no means my finest moment in terms of being a well-adjusted adult. Was I late? Yes. Was my response petty? Yes. Would I handle it the same way now over a decade later? Hopefully not!

A guy comes into the auto shop, having driven up in a car with a sizeable dent on the side.

Customer: “Please see what you can do about… that.” *Gestures to the dent*

Me: “Sure thing, but what happened?”

Customer: “My ex-boyfriend drove my car to his job at a store. After his shift, he got drunk with his knucklehead coworkers and thought it would be fun to play destruction derby with my car in the empty parking lot.”

Me: “Ouch, that hurts.”

Customer: “Tell me about it.”

I can tell this is not going to be cheap. Usually, to soften the blow, I engage in small talk with the customers.

Me: “So, why did you let him use your car if he’s your ex?”

Customer: “Well… he wasn’t my ex at the time.”

Ouch! When driving causes a break-up you know it has to be bad. We wonder how others fared in these 12 Stories About Customers Who Should Not Be Allowed To Drive!