I like to be serviced

Get your mind out of the gutter and into the garage.

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Creative Commons License photo credit: eiko_eiko – Yes, this is NOT my car.

The other day I jumped in my car – late for work – actually late to miss the nasty traffic – and noticed that my coolant light was on.

I *carefully* drove very slowly to the nearest service station and asked the man there if he had any coolant for my car.

While he was filling up my water he also checked my oil – completely shiny stick – which as you know is not. good. He also topped up my tires and noticed that the brake pads were wearing thin.

Yes it’s been a while since I got my car serviced. Yes I’m bad.

Anyway the fellow was so nice I booked my car in for a service and he didn’t charge me for the oil as he knew I was coming in…

A couple of days later I drop my car off.

A different guy – from t’north of England – took my keys after calling me beautiful. And even though I knew it was the sales patter (I really should have had my roots done a week ago and could lose some weight) – I felt good.

Good about myself, good about leaving the car.

A couple of hours later, I’m at work and I get a call. It’s my Geordie from the garage.

“Hiya beautiful. Checked out your car. I’m afraid it’s going to come to $1500. Do you want to go ahead.”

“Yeah sure. Go for it.”

It was in the ball park of what I expected and frankly you don’t mess with brakes. They have to be done.

But it was the whole shmooze.

I don’t know why but shmooze with an accent gets me every time.

So fast forward a few days. This morning I walk down to the garage and pick up my car. Hi beautiful, hey guess what you won the raffle! Yeah me and boys reckon you were the best looking customer this week so we’ve given your car a valet service.”

Yeah they probably valet all their cars. I don’t care.

I’m poor, but I don’t care.

I feel special and I’ll go back.

That is service my friends, and service is good.