Here I sit, in a waiting area of a car repair/dealership. You know the drill, you get a coupon for an oil change for $30, and you walk out with a $200 bill after repairs on things you do not understand. And the worst part is, like FOX News and CNN, they scare the crap out of you. “If you don’t get this belt fixed, ma’am, you could die – no really, you will be stranded in this cold weather, and you will die.” My response, “okay just do it. I don’t wanna die on the streets of Colorado in sub-zero temps.”
The waiting room has its share of fun people-watching, and very diverse people. It’s a social experiment, really. I think a guy was just sitting here to use the internet because once he is done with his work on his laptop, he just packs it up and leaves. No one called his name. He was not the chosen one who got called out to “discuss” his car’s woes and worst fears like I did. No intercom paged him. He just packed up all his electronic gadgets and took off. I think he snagged a doughnut before he left too.
Like a doctor’s waiting room, there is that general look of desperation, fear, boredom, and despair on all the faces of most who sit here. And when your name is called on the intercom you are relieved, because that means your car is ready and you leave. No further “discussions” or “scary talks.” When the technician walks in and calls your name, you sigh because it means this is not good news. This means they found more things wrong, and it’s time to shell out more bucks. It’s time for the fear talk. The talk that will lead you to say, “yes, go ahead and fix it, I do not want my car to blow up mid-highway drive.” And, speaking of repairs, where did my car go? I cannot see it, I do not even know if they changed the oil, or replaced the belt, or whatever else they said needed done. How can I inspect what they did? They never really show me anyway.
And let’s not even talk about the wait, my God, the wait times. You just keep waiting, and watching these people around you who are lucky enough to be called before you. Where do they live? Where did they come from? How many repairs do they need? Did they have a tough talk with the repair tech too? Why won’t they call my name over the intercom so I can just be done and go back to my life? The despair, the fear, the boredom, the people-watching – the fun continues, and people keep entering, but no one seems to be leaving. At one point, they are out of chairs, so people are now waiting elsewhere. The joys of the waiting room at a car repair/dealership. Well, folks, my time with you is done. The goddess-like voice of the woman who just called my last name over the intercom, says my car is ready. Yeah! I am done! It is time for me to go… ’til we meet again, at the car dealership or repair shop.