Never in my life did I ever imagine an oil change would take up an entire day, but that’s what happened yesterday. Although I’m capable of doing it myself, I had received a notice in the mail that I was entitled to one more free service from the dealership.
In fact, Nate Wade has been servicing my Subaru for free for the past ten years–I presume because of some sort of bookkeeping error. The process is simple; you just pull into the service bay, hand your key to one of several customer representatives on duty, and then enjoy a cup of coffee in the waiting room until your name is called, at which time your key is returned and you receive a complimentary cookie. The process never takes more than half an hour.
But yesterday was different. The service bay was packed and cars were backed up clear to the street. Asking around, I was informed that as a “walk-in” I could expect to wait for as long as three hours.
I decided to return home, where I retrieved the notice and dialed the number I’d been given in order to schedule an appointment. Presently, I was connected to a robot, who found me an opening at 1:15 that afternoon. Great!
Come 1:15 I pulled into the lot to discover not just a backlog of cars, but no service representatives on duty. Evidently, the entire staff had convened in the showroom for a corporate pep talk–I presume by those two “efficiency experts” from the film Office Space.
I waited, and waited some more until finally the pep rally concluded and a small army of blue-shirts filed past, all of whom assiduously avoided eye contact except for a buxom young blonde whose name tag somehow didn’t register. She smiled. I decided to stick around.
Back in the waiting room, I poured myself a cup of coffee, settled into one of several comfy chairs and waited until finally my name was called–by the same attractive blonde who had caught my eye earlier. I sprang to attention.
“Your car’s not ready yet,” she said. “I just wanted to ask if perhaps you’ve considered an assessment.”
“I’d rate you a ten, easy.” I replied. “Maybe a ten plus.“
“I’m talking about your car. Would you like to know its trade-in value?”
I assured her that under no circumstances would I ever trade in my 2016 Crosstrek. In fact, I have never traded in a used car for a new one–that is except for the Mercury Sable I literally begged a Nissan dealer to take off my hands. That was thirty years ago, and I’m driving that 1995 Pathfinder still. And it’s not even my old car. My old car is a Volkswagen Kombi that I bought new in 1973, and which after a quarter million miles on the road still looks like it just rolled off the showroom floor.
One reason my vehicles last forever is because I perform frequent oil changes. Also, because I’m a certified used car-reconditioning expert, I know how to keep a car looking and smelling nice. Back when I worked as a detailer at Redd Motor Company, it was my job to transfer all the dirt and grime on a trade-in onto my hands and overalls. One thing we didn’t have in those bygone days was a lovely young assessment specialist. Had that been the case, I’d surely have been dealing with a higher class of trade-ins.
