Hey, A Little Service, Please!

Yesterday I visited an auto dealership to have a minor problem fixed on my 2005 Buick LaCrosse. I had made an appointment so I was disappointed right off the bat with their greeting. The cheery, starched-collared service manager, Jerry, informed me that “we are a little short-handed today” and “it may be 25 minutes before someone can get to your vehicle.” Ms. Grump (that would be ME)said to herself, “Oh, here we go ~ I’ll be here all day. This will probably cost an arm, leg and half an eyebrow.” (I can be such a merry little gal sometimes)

I was ushered into the waiting room and was surprised to see it cleaner than the last time I spent 3 frustrating hours there. WOW, I saw people in comfortable chairs surfing the internet on computers that were provided. The smell was quite different from the musty, oil-soaked aroma I had experienced a few months earlier. My nose caught the distinctive scent of fresh-baked donuts and freshly brewed vanilla-bean coffee. Why, Ms. Grump turned into Ms. Ecstatic until, when I reached for a donut, an electric shock pulsated through my being like what Ben Franklin must have felt while attempting to fly a kite with a key. It was my conscious. CRUD!
At first I thought that maybe the dealership was watching out for our health and attempting to dissuade empty calories from jumping on innocent clients by hooking up a mini-electric shocker.
I’ve heard of “sticker-shock” but never “cream-puff shock.”

OK, maybe they didn’t have the donuts rigged like an electric chair. I was caught a little off guard with the spruced-up waiting room which I had nick-named “fuming room” and hung a sign to that effect during my prior stay. So maybe my imagination got carried away with the bouquet of the bismark.
I actually enjoyed my next 40 minutes as I was able to get some work done on the computer station they had recently installed.
Jerry, the service manager, returned with my keys explaining that not only was the problem fixed, there would be no charge since the car was under warranty.
“We washed your car and it’s waiting for you out the front door. Happy Thanksgiving!”
I mumbled an embarrassed “thank you” as I remembered my first thoughts of how I originally visualized what a catastrophe this stopover would pan out to be. I really don't like being SO wrong and then to add insult to injury (whatever that means), when I opened my car door, I found a juicy red apple on the driver’s seat accompanied by a hand-signed thank you card. Sigh.

Now I really felt mortified about my original negativity.

You don’t suppose they would mind if I showed up every day to have them check “a little rattle under the hood?” I could have breakfast and get some work done.

(I know you are thinking, “Peg, I think that you may have more than a little rattle under YOUR hood!)