Tuesday night, I took my car in to a place I’ll call “Spiffy Lube” for a long-overdue oil change. $66 with an air filter. Lesson learned. When going to Spiffy Lube, you will need lube.
The next day, Nita called during her lunch hour and said Spiffy Lube was backed up and, oh, they wanted $77 for their “special SUV blend.”
“Um… No,” I said. “You drive a V6. Let me make some calls.”
There were a number of tire places I’ve gone to that usually give me reasonable rates on oil changes. All of them were booked. Granted, we should have changed Nita’s oil well before the holidays, but that didn’t work out. So here I was, calling around.
I finally got a 5:30 appointment with a place I will call “Pup Boyz.” So off I went to Kenwood to pick up the Nitamobile. I got to the Boyz promptly at 5:30. “We’re backed up,” the manager informed. No problem. I understood this was a holiday weekend, and they were getting a lot of last minute business. The manager took my keys and placed them on the work order with the words, “WITH APPOINTMENT.”
IN BIG RED LETTERS.
So at 5:45, I was still waiting. Understandable.
At 6 PM, I was still waiting. Understandable.
At 6:30, I was still waiting. Um…
At 6:45, I’m still waiting. Nita calls. “So where are you?”
“Waiting for them to change your oil.”
“Are they almost finished?”
“The car is still out front.”
“They haven’t moved it.”
“Have you said something?”
“I’m standing in line behind the other pissed off customers.”
Meanwhile, a mechanic called this fourteenth phone number trying to locate the owner of a van in one of the bays. Apparently, they forgot to ask the owner’s phone number.
Nita hangs up. She calls back. I’m still waiting for my turn to say, “It’s 6:45. Do you know what an ‘appointment’ means?”
“Leave now. I called Tire Cheapsellers. Tell them you’re the guy whose wife just called.”
I am firing up the Nitamobile before she even hangs up. At 6:50, I’m in Tire Cheapsellers’ parking lot, across the street from the Boyz. The Nitamobile is in the bay and up on a rack by the time I finish the paperwork. I run next door to Burger King to get a drink. The ice isn’t even melted when the mechanic pulls the Nitamobile around front. Time?
7 PM. Fifteen minutes from the moment Nita said, “Grab the keys.”
Yes, we lucked out and got the one last-minute (literally) oil change slot in all of Cincinnati on the day before Thanksgiving, but still, it’s fifteen minutes from the moment I snatched the keys off the Boyz’ counter.
7:05, I’m halfway home. Nita calls. The Boyz’ manager is frantically trying to call me about my long wait, and, oh, by the way, could I please not call corporate?
Bwahahahahahaha!!!!!!!! Nita Googled the Boyz’ corporate number after she hung up with the manager.
Tire Cheapsellers’ manager gets a nice hunk of cheese Friday as thanks. (She loves cheese.)