I’m a woman in my twenties and I’m a mechanic at an auto shop. This regular comes in all the time to get his oil changed and everything on his 2007 truck. He usually requests that I perform his oil change because he likes the way I do it. I realized the other day that I hadn’t seen [Regular]’s truck in a while, but I didn’t think much of it because I was promoted from oil change tech to a higher level where I do more than just oil changes, and I assumed [Regular]’s oil change was now being done by one of the oil change techs.

After some months, I get [Regular]’s truck in for an oil change. I don’t realize anything is wrong until after I finish and turn in the keys and see [Regular] arguing with the service advisor. I go on to my next job, and after [Regular] leaves, I go talk to the service advisor.

Me: “What was [Regular] angry about?”

Service Advisor: “He was trying to get us to reimburse him for the money he spent buying his own filters and oil. He’s been changing his own oil for the last few months because he couldn’t get an appointment with you to change it for him, and he wanted us to pay him because he’s been ‘doing our job for us.’”

I am a field service mechanic for an equipment rental company. Yesterday, I blocked a machine from going on rent due to a broken windshield. I am out on a service call when I get the following call from my boss.

Boss: “Why did you say not to send the machine with the broken windshield?”

Me: *Pauses* “Because it has a broken windshield.”

Boss: “But are you concerned about the broken glass?”

Me: “Yes, that’s why when I saw the machine with broken glass, I said, ‘Don’t send it; it has broken glass.’”

Boss: “But is it dangerous?”

Me: “Broken glass? Yes!”

Boss: “Oh, well, I just wanted to know if I could send it out.”

Me: “Has someone else replaced the glass since yesterday?”

Boss: “No, but—”

Me: *Interrupting* “Then no. We can’t send a machine with broken glass out on rent.”

Boss: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes. I’m sure. If it breaks further, it could cut someone.”

Boss: “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

He’s a nice guy and means well but is kind of clueless sometimes.

I have several bicycles that I maintain myself. Sometimes, I will visit my local bike store and ask the mechanics for advice on a problem or which tool to buy. The mechanics are well qualified and very helpful. It is a huge international store which also employs sales staff.

Unfortunately, a pattern develops. I ask to speak to a mechanic, and some of the sales staff tell me they are mechanics. However, they are unable to answer simple questions. It has happened several times, and I am tiring of it.

This time, I walk in carrying a bicycle wheel.

Me: “Hi. If you don’t mind me asking, are you a mechanic?”

Employee #1: “Yes.”

Me: “Great! Can you tell me which tool I need to remove the cassette from this wheel? I don’t think it’s a standard Shimano spline.”

Employee #1: “I’m not sure. Let me check the workshop.”

I follow him to the workshop.

Employee #2: “Let me try this tool… I’m sorry I’m not sure.”

Employee #1: “Do you want to leave it with us and I’ll ask [Head Mechanic] tomorrow?”

Me: “No, thank you. Wait… I asked if you were a mechanic. Which Cytech level do you have?”

Employee #1: “I don’t have one.”

Me: “Then why did you tell me you were a mechanic?”

Employee #1: “Well, basic stuff.”

I leave and return the next day. [Head Mechanic] is working. He is amazing. He can do everything a bike mechanic would ever need to do, including building wheels.

Head Mechanic: “Hey, [My Name]! How’s that bike build coming?”

Me: “Getting there! I need this cassette off, but the cassette remover doesn’t fit.”

Head Mechanic: *Lifting something off a shelf* “That’s a freehub system, but you’re holding a Shimano spline tool. You need one of these. Slide it in and turn anti-clockwise, like this. It’s £12.”

Me: “Thanks. By the way… are the sales staff entitled to call themselves mechanics?”

Head Mechanic: “No. Why?”

Me: “It’s happened a few times. I ask to speak to a mechanic because I have a complicated question. They then tell me they are a mechanic and they get confused by whatever I’m asking.”

Head Mechanic: “Really? We haven’t hired any new mechanics.”

Me: “A few sales assistants seem to think that because they can fix a puncture, they are professional mechanics. It’s also really disrespectful, because you have paid thousands for formal training. Would you tell the manager you have had a complaint?”

Head Mechanic: “Yes, sure. When did it happen?”

Me: “Yesterday. I don’t mind speaking to sales assistants if they stay within their limits. If someone who doesn’t know what they are doing works on a bike, someone could get hurt. All this because people don’t have the guts to say, ‘No, I’m not a mechanic but why don’t you try me and I’ll do my best?’”

I also complained by Facebook private message. [Head Mechanic] still knows the answer to anything I ask. I now ask for a mechanic by name, or I ask if they have completed a course in bike mechanics.

Due to the global health crisis, our management team is required to take turns at the security gates of our mine and use a thermal camera to take temperatures of anyone entering the property. We also have to ask two questions: “Do you have any [illness] symptoms?” and “Have you been exposed to anyone with the [illness]?”

I’m assigned to the gate one morning, and around 5:00 am, a mechanic rolls up in a service truck with a smirk on his face.

Me: “Do you have any [illness] symptoms?”

Mechanic: “No.”

Me: “Have you been exposed to anyone with the [illness]?”

Mechanic: *With attitude* “I don’t know. How does anybody know if they’re exposed at the grocery store or gas station?”

This isn’t the first bit of attitude I’ve taken about these checks, and I’m pretty sick of it.

Me: “I’m scheduled here until 6:30. I can wait until you give me the answer I need. If you have a problem with the question, we can call your supervisor and HR to have a discussion.”  

Mechanic: “Umm, no. No exposure.”

On a major roadway, I drive over something in the middle of the lane that looks like a piece of ribbon at first, but I feel a bump when I go over it. A couple of kilometers later, other drivers start yelling out their windows that I’m leaking gas, so I pull into the next gas station.

I call my roadside assistance company and they tow me to one of their recommended mechanics. They’re closed when we arrive, so my sister drives me home and I phone first thing the next morning.

Me: “Hi there. Something punctured my gas tank so my truck was leaking gas everywhere last night. My truck is on your lot; I was wondering if you could take a look and tell me how much you think it will cost to fix.”

They agree but I don’t hear anything, so I phone again the next day.

Me: “Hi. I called yesterday about the red truck?”

Representative: “Oh, yeah! That one! Yeah, it’s the fuel tank. It’s punctured.”

Me: “Yeah, I know. How much will it cost to fix?”

Representative: “Well, I’ll have to look into it and get back to you.”

I wait for a few hours and call again that afternoon.

Me: “Hi. I’m looking for a quote on my truck.”

Representative: “Well, I told you. You need a new fuel tank.”

Me: “Okay, but do you know how much it will cost?”

Representative: “Let me take a look here and see how much that part would cost… plus labour… You’re looking at about $600 for a new tank with a one-year warranty.”

I take a few hours to talk to people close to me who know more about this stuff than I do and call them to tell them to go ahead with the new tank. Two or three days later, they leave a message on my phone late in the afternoon.

Message: “We’re calling to tell you that the tank we ordered arrived but it is the wrong tank for your truck and we can’t find one that fits, so our next step is to use a special material to patch the hole in your fuel tank.”

It’s too late to phone them when I hear this message, so I plan to phone them the next day after talking to the same people as before. This is a rough week, because I lose my phone that evening. After two days of searching with no luck and being advised by my boss and dad that the patch job will be too temporary to be worth it, I ask my mom to phone the mechanic to tell them to forget about it. To our horror, they inform her they’ve patched it up and are waiting for me to come get it.

Mom: “Well, how much are you going to charge?”

Representative: “We agreed on $600.”

Mom: “The $600 was for a new tank. Why did you go ahead with the work? We never consented.”

Representative: “It doesn’t matter; we’ve done the work so now you need to pay.”

Mom: “But you didn’t have a work order! She agreed to a new tank.”

Representative: “How about we do $500?”

Mom: “That’s too much money for a patch job! We never would have agreed to that and you didn’t have a work order!”

Representative: “Listen, the truck costs us money every day it’s up on the hoist. We can rip the patch off and you come get the truck, but it’s still gonna cost you a few hundred dollars.”

Mom: “Why didn’t you just put it back on the lot? We’re not paying $500 for a patch.”

Eventually, we managed to negotiate that they would fix a vandalized keyhole which I had been working around for months, and I would pay them $500 total. When I signed the paperwork, we learned that the patch job only had a six-month warranty instead of the original twelve months. 

Seven months later, the patch started falling off and I tried to submit a complaint about the mechanic to my roadside assistance company, as I was reminded of the terrible service and as frustrated as ever. They reached out to the mechanic, who claimed that they had never even heard of me or my little red truck.

We decided to pick our battles and just sold the truck for parts and bought a different one.