When I was a young whipper snapper before my backside started to sag and I was clubbing 5 nights a week we were somewhat shallow-like. My friends had a joke that a certain German vehicle stood for Be My Wife because in our shallow world we all wanted to date a boy driving one of those and marriage – well that was the cherry on the top.
In my more mature state with my saggy arse I had occasion to get one of these vehicles four years ago. And aside from the many sets of tyres I’ve been through, we’ve been good. The tyres unfortunately are a combination of the way I drive (a corner can easily be done at 50km/h) and the fact that I don’t know how to put air in them.
Ten days ago I was driving to collect Miss9 from kickboxing with Miss13 in the car. One thing I haven’t let go of since the whipper snapper days is the volume of the music and the quality of music played in the car. I’m a strictly Top40 Girl people. Yes – open confession – I know about Psy and Gangnam Sta. So over the boom boom coming out of the speakers I heard another noise. Asking Miss13 what she thought it was she was quick to reassure me that a helicopter must be flying overhead. In addition to my arse sagging (yes I’m a bit obsessed with that at the moment), my hearing isn’t great either (something about wax build-up). To err on the side of caution I switched the boom boom off. And the helicopter was not over head. It was in the bonnet. Problem. Big problem.
Or so I thought. I rolled into a certain Dealership in the Bay near the X and a Service Manager took a spin with me – assured me it was a bearing of no consequence and that I could bring the car in when it suited me – it was mechanically sound. Quote. Unquote.
Lesson number 1 people – a Service Manager is not a Mechanic. Repeat. A Service Manager is not a Mechanic.
I drove the car for ten days. Day ten saw me make two stops in Bondi before planning to go to a meeting in the city where I was to park six floors underground in a space where a cat cannot be swung. Or a tow truck for that matter.
On Oxford Street I couldn’t hear the boom boom anymore because the helicopter was practically in the car with me. Now I’m no “service manager” or “mechanic” from a fancy Dealership but I spent a lot of time around racing sites in my first job and I can tell you when somethings about to blow on a machine. Big Time.
I called The Dealership – was told it was an “unscheduled service” – and I was welcome to leave the car there and they MIGHT look at it on Monday. At no point did anyone ask whether it was a death trap or anything of the sort. Nice. And a bit on the disappointing side.
To cut a long one short – I found a German car specialist near work – threw the keys and a business card at him and his partner before hopping a cab to the city. And here’s a first for you. This mechanic put it in writing to me in an email that the car can’t go back on the road till it’s fixed. Something about a compressor and the driving belt snapping resulting in no power steering and no brakes. I don’t think I need to paint a picture for you. Joe and Steve from BMS Auto Haus had the car ready by lunchtime the next day. This is a massive shout out for them. Professional, polite and completely top blokes. And they saved my sanity. You can find them here.
So, to those MOFO’s (YES IN BIG CAPITAL LETTERS) at The Dealership – bite me on my saggy arse. And when I called to cancel my SCHEDULED service for tomorrow – did you not find it strange and why did you not ask any questions when I said I had sent the car elsewhere – despite the fact that the car has NEVER been elsewhere in four years? Perhaps Lance (whoever he is) should not be answering the phone at the Be My Wife Service Desk? Just saying.