I am convinced there is a coveted Golden Lube Award presented at an annual drive-thru-oil-change-company award banquet and that this award is based on the highest exponential up-sale garnered by any single salesman/mechanic.
I am further convinced that this year's award will be claimed by my own neighborhood Oil & Lube in recognition of turning a $19.99 oil change into a $237 drain-flush-replace-fill of every imaginable fluid that my mini-van could cough-up.
I am convinced there is a coveted Golden Lube Award presented at an annual drive-thru-oil-change-company award banquet and that this award is based on the highest exponential up-sale garnered by any single salesman/mechanic.
I am further convinced that this year's award will be claimed by my own neighborhood Oil & Lube in recognition of turning a $19.99 oil change into a $237 drain-flush-replace-fill of every imaginable fluid that my mini-van could cough-up.
Now, before I sound too much like a victim let me say I do take full responsibility for allowing it to happen. You see, cars and computers are, to me, the necessary evils of life which I love when they are working and I loathe when they are not. Once the case is opened or the hood is popped my eyes glaze over and I lose all ability to comprehend. I become a dumb, smiling and nodding idiot completely unable to repeat back the last 3 words spoken to me.
Normally, my dear husband will change the oil on our cars. In this case though, several months had lapsed since the (soft ding) OIL CHANGE REQUIRED warning first illumined and for a good 2000 miles I’d press the RESET button and ignore the (soft ding)ing. Fearing that my grace period was about run out, I decided I would do my sweetie a favor and just drive up and have it taken care of the next time I see a special $19.99 oil change.
Then I saw Him. Like a beacon in a grease monkey suit he stood holding in one oil-stained fist a sign and with the other hand, bandaged, perhaps from an exhaust pipe burn, waving, beckoning and, as I think back now, even daring me to drive in for the $19.99 Grand Opening Oil Change Special.
I wheeled in with reckless abandon for I hadn't any time to use my turn signal. Glancing into the rear-view mirror I smiled back at my 2 kids "Hang on to your sippy-cups! We're going in!"
As I dutifully followed the arrows leading me to one of the vacant bays, another young man gestured me to a perfect taxi-stop directly over the pit. I turned the key to stop the engine and lowered my cockpit window.
"Oil change?" He asked flashing his finest customer service smile.
"You betcha!" I replied, proud that I was finally getting this little maintenance issue resolved.
"What's your name?" He prepares to write on his clipboard. As I offer my name he asks for some other tidbits of information; what's the mileage, would I like him to wash the windows, "Sure, thank you," could he vacuum my car, "No thanks," as I quickly peruse the collection of toys, trash, and petrified foodstuffs. He tilts his head and, leaning in a bit to peer into the backseat, waves a friendly "Hello!" to the boys.
"So," He consults his clipboard, "What kind of oil do you need?"
“Huh?” What does he mean what kind of oil? Wouldn't that be motor oil? Why is he asking me? I actually feel the fog begin to take over.
"Well, the manufacturer recommends that you use 5-yadda-yadda-extra-special-premium-grade oil for greater engine performance."
"Hmmm, well, what's the price?" I manage to ask.
"That would add another $29.99 to the cost." He informs me.
"Oh, no thanks," whew, that was easy.
"Well, we do offer a 5-yadda-yadda-premium-but-not-as-special-grade for only $9.99 more." He suggests.
"Oh, okay," I relent. I mean, cars are a big investment, right? We use premium gasoline surely my husband would insist on the better oil, as well.
"We'll get that taken care of for you Ms. Adams. You are welcome to wait in our air-conditioned lobby. There's TV and magazines. Make yourself at home." He smiles, knowing that he's got a live one and it is feeding time for his manager the shark.
I gather our things and get the boys out of the van. “No, Alex, don't jump on the net; it's there to keep people from falling in the pit.” “Chris, remember to take your crackers and do you really need all of those toys?”
I've just gotten us situated when The Man walks in and summons me to his computer screen. He has pulled up the manufacturer's recommended maintenance schedule and begins to ask me if this very important work has been completed and if so, how long ago?
I begin to feel the color rise to my cheeks. You see, none of this work has been done in a very long time and yet I continue to shuttle my two trusting and vulnerable children about town in a van that, as The Man makes it sound, is being sorely neglected and on the verge of leaving us stranded. How can I say "No, we'll have it done later" or "No, my husband will take care of it," when I've been caught red-handed already several thousand miles past due on a simple oil change. I wonder if The Man will call CPS as I drive away, and let them know that I willingly transported small children in this death mobile. Further, more pragmatically, would a good steward neglect such an important investment?
"Okay," I mutter numbly, "it needs to be done sometime, I guess."
The Man, sensing my discomfort offers me 20% off because he's such nice guy and he can tell it's much more than I intended to fit in today.
I slink back to my seat, defeated, and repeat to myself "It all needs to be done anyway." "$233 is not really a bad price for all of that work.” Crap. My husband’s going to kill me.
30 minutes later The Man comes in to clean, rather, close me out. "$203.76 and you saved $33.28 today!" He points out with a smile.
"Yes, thanks." I reply, hoping my debit transaction will be approved. Then, the boys and I gather our things, pack into our van with all its new fluid and clean windows, and drive away.
After driving the car for awhile I begin to sense that it's not running very smoothly. I drive it for another day or two and become convinced it's not running smoothly. I have my husband drive. "It's missing like crazy!" he says. "Bring it back tomorrow and let them know it was running fine before the oil change." He still doesn't know how much it cost.
That night a representative from Oil & Lube Headquarters calls to perform a Customer Satisfaction phone survey.
"I understand you just had your car serviced at one of our stations." Mindy reads from her script. "May I ask you a few questions regarding the quality of our service?"
"Indeed." I reply, eager to let her know what I think. She then proceeds to ask me a series of closed-ended questions, talking so fast that I can't get a word in edgewise. This is just fine with Mindy because she has been trained to politely ignore any edgewise words leaking in. Her last question was, “What are the chances you'll return to Oil & Lube: Excellent, Very Good, Maybe, Not often?” That's easy - EXCELLENT because ever since your vocational school dropouts touched it, my van MISSES LIKE CRAZY and SOMEONE'S going to FIX it!!
So, back to Oil & Lube I go, kids in tow. This time the boys want me to ask for a tour of the pits. I assure them we're going to get a tour. For $203.76 you bet they're going to give us a tour!
I speak to The Man. He's very concerned and since, once again, I'm the only customer, the whole swarm of mechanics hover over, under, and around the van trying to diagnose the problem.
The Man returns after a few minutes. "Well, it doesn't look like anything we've done, but when was the last time you had the fuel injection cleaned?"
"I'm not sure. Is that what it is?" I ask. Like I said, when it comes to computers and cars my I.Q. seems to plummet way to the left of the curve.
"Well, sometimes when the fuel filter has been changed...and depending on if there was sludge or debris in your gas tank...if it hasn't been done in a while it really should be flushed." Then, he offers, "Our fuel injection service is normally $59.99, but I'll meet you halfway so you're basically only paying for parts."
Again, I wouldn't want to risk taking the boys out in a vehicle that could stall on the freeway....
"Okay, do it." I sigh.
The Man gives his technicians the go ahead and the next thing I know the boys are pointing out the window saying "Mom, look! It looks like our van is going for a walk down the hall at the hospital!" And sure enough, there is one mechanic steering my barely crawling van and another walking backward in front holding what looks like an IV bag with the tube running under the hood.
After a few minutes, a minion comes in to tell me that The Man is taking the van for a ride to see if it's running any better.
It's not. But I've now spent another $33.54 for the pleasure.
"Well," The Man walks in swiping his hands together. "Your fan motor is making a really bad noise and I think it's draining the engine of a lot of power."
Just then my phone rings so I pick up. It's my husband asking how things are going. "The Man says it’s the fan motor making a really bad noise and draining the engine of its power." I confidently offer.
"What fan motor?" Asks Chuck and I've just given up all of the knowledge I have on the subject. Nonplussed, I snap "Oh, I don't know. He says it's nothing they did!"
We exchange some small talk and I love yous and hang up. I ask The Man if the boys can tour the pits. Yes, it's okay. The boys think it's great and they just can't seem to remember to only look with their eyes so their hands and shoes get oily.
I'm glad to be leaving as I load the van, once again. The Man recommends a couple of garages that he knows will take care of me and not take advantage of me. In fact, they are owned by guys he's known for almost 10 years so they can be trusted. He offers this as though by some process of osmosis all the years of trust and knowledge should be transferred to me as a result of our transaction. I’m wondering if these guys have also used Glengarry Glen Ross as their sales training video:
(A)lways (B)e (C)losing!
We drive off, missing and sputtering all the way home. At least my windows are clean.
To The Man: Now, it wouldn't be fair to accept the Golden Lube Award without proper acknowledgement of the Sucker of the Year to whom you owe your success. Make sure to remember me when you're thanking the Academy!