Maybe it’s mean of me to rub it in, but how damned dumb can you get?  I still can’t believe Jerry was dumb enough to attempt to wash his truck when he was too drunk to speak intelligibly.  Next time I go to my church group I will have to confiscate his keys.

There used to be a long standing joke with the guys at the Buick dealers. 

 “How did the Century get its name?” 

“It’s the average age of the drivers. ”

The sad thing about most jokes is that they are based on a grain of truth.  It seems every time I go up to Marion I see them everywhere- little old white-haired geezers driving Buick Centurys.  I know, geezers tend to like Camrys too, but then again so do cops.  I remember dealing with a lot of cops.  Among those cops who prefer Toyotas, it’s either Camrys or 4Runners. Go figure.

You know you’re in trouble when you go into a car dealership and there’s a defibrillator in the service waiting area.  Either the clientele is antique or the rates are outrageous, or maybe it’s how the geezers react to outrageous repair bills.  Then again, when you’re 85 you really don’t have much better to do than to languish in the Buick dealer’s customer lounge, swilling their day-old coffee and falling asleep in the plastic chairs while Oprah is blaring on the cheap 13 inch TV that is hanging from the wall.   It would stand to reason that the Grim Reaper will will find you regardless if you are falling asleep to Oprah at home, or at Smilin’ Bob’s Buick.   The only difference is that if you drop dead at the Buick dealer it makes them look bad, sort of like the other day when I saw an EMS truck parked in front of Wendy’s.  EMS drivers have to eat sometime, don’t they?  Or maybe some unfortunate geezer’s number came up just as they were diving in to a steaming cup of Wendy’s chili.  Either way no one really wants to equate Wendy’s with medical emergencies that require the EMS any more than the Buick dealers want anyone to equate sudden death with waiting in their service department.   I know when my number’s up I really hope to be asleep in my own bed.  The sad part is that I will probably die alone and no one will find me until my carcass has been stripped by my dogs and cats, but that’s a whole other subject.

I don’t believe in hanging around waiting for my car to get fixed.  I have no patience for that noise.  I’d rather drop it off and let them notify me when it’s done and when I can come and get it.  When I was a service director I never liked having customers wait on cars for a number of reasons.  First of all having someone wandering about waiting puts pressure on the tech to fix it fast which means he might not address possible upsell opportunities.  This is probably the best reason to put the customer in a rental car or give him/her a ride to work.  If the tech has it all day he is more likely to be more thorough in his assessment of possible upsells and the customer is more likely to approve upsells which means no rescheduling.  Why not get everything done while the car’s already on the rack?   I  also don’t have to worry about babysitting that person either as they troll about the showroom or worse, they come back to the shop to pester advisors or techs.  The worst thing a customer can do is keep coming back to the advisor every ten minutes asking, “is it done yet?”  Believe me, we want you out of that waiting room, sweetheart, and we will be the first to come and get you when it’s ready to go. 

I’m glad I don’t work in dealerships anymore.  There were fun things about it but I freely admit I can’t handle the stress.  I do miss the fact that I could get my car detailed for free and maintenance services done for the cost of parts and a 12 pack of brews though.  Techs are generally easily bribed with malt beverages. 

Which brings me back to Jerry’s dumb ass incident.  I wonder how much this little faux pas is going to cost him?  I still can’t believe he had the balls to blame me ostensibly because I wasn’t there to protect him from himself.   As if I can?  When he’s wasted the Drunk and Stupid has an evil life of its own.  You can’t tell him shit.  I was home when (in a booze fueled blaze of stupidity) he decided it was a good idea to start a fire in the fireplace with gasoline.  I refused to “help” him by getting the gas can for him so he did it himself. 

I know we all have our frailties- I could write a rather tawdry tome if I were to recall every stupid thing I’ve ever done, but come on.  53 going on two.  He might have gained himself some attention but I guarantee it’s not the kind of attention he wants!