Quirk can kiss my dimpled white ass

Seriously.  I find dealership service centers to be immoral on a good day.  At times, criminal even.  Below is the letter I fired off to GM, the Better Business Bureau, and the dealership itself.  This reminds me of the Best Buy clusterfuck… dear lord, I am so exhausted.

 

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to express my dissatisfaction with the service provided to my Saturn vehicle by GM/Chevrolet. This service, or lack thereof, has cost me money and threatens my safety and well-being, as I am not currently driving a safe vehicle.

Here is what happened:

1) In June 2009, I purchased a 2008 Saturn Astra. The vehicle was brand new with 14 miles on it.

2) In 2011, my horn stopped working. On July 29, 2011 I brought my car to Quirk Chevrolet in Manchester, NH – the local GM branch that was servicing Saturn vehicles. They informed me that there was a technical service bulletin for this vehicle, and “fixed” the horn free of charge. According to the invoice, the bulletin doc id# was 2551417. (I have not yet been able to locate this bulletin id or its description anywhere online.)

3) Despite the “service” I received, I continued to periodically have issues with the horn, as well as the radio controls located on the steering wheel. I was reluctant to bring it back to Quirk because, when I called to ask about the problem, I was told that I would be charged a diagnostic fee until they could determine if it was the “exact same issue” I had before. Quirk’s diagnostic fee is $95 – a price I could not afford to take a chance on.

4) I noticed that, when the horn did not work, it correlated with the radio volume control on the steering wheel (right hand side) not working. If I tried to raise the volume and could not, I immediately knew the horn was not functioning.

5) At the start of this year, the horn (and volume control) ceased to work at all. I knew I could not put it off any longer. (Unfortunately, my mechanic was unable to do the work. He indicated that he thought it was a problem with the transmission between the horn signal and the modem of my vehicle. An idea that Quirk NEVER brought up, btw.) I went back to Quirk.

6) On March 8, 2014, I went to Quirk’s service center. I explained the situation, including the detail that when the volume control did not work, neither did the horn. I paid a $95 diagnostic fee, and they looked at my car for over 3 hours. I was told by my liaison, Fred, that I needed a switch in my steering wheel. I then paid another $54.98 for the “switch”. I had to wait for the part to arrive, so it was not until March 22, 2014 that my car was “fixed”. On that day, I paid another $66.50 for labor. Total cost to me was $216.48.

7) The very next day (Sunday), I drove to the grocery store. I tried to raise the volume on the radio and it did not work. Neither did my horn. I called Quirk the following Monday and was told to bring it back.

8) I brought it back in on March 28, 2014 and that is when I discovered, from talking with Fred, that the “switch” they replaced was for the radio control only. They did not do any repair to fix the horn because the horn worked when they looked at it. Fred also tried to charge me another $95 to look at my car again. I told him that I was not paying that amount because they obviously had not fixed the problem that I originally brought my car in there for. Quirk was unable to do anything at this time because, once again, the horn was working.

9) On April 22, 2014, my horn was not working (again). I immediately drove it to Quirk. Unfortunately, it started working on the way there. Once again, they could do nothing. But I was told that they would research service bulletins, etc. I am not sure why they did not do this from the beginning. I told them this was important, as it is a safety hazard. I have no idea when my horn will or won’t work!

10) I still have not heard from Fred or anyone else at Quirk.

At this point, I am very upset. I paid over $200 to have a “switch” replaced that I probably did not need. I say that because the radio control STILL does not periodically work. THE SAME EXACT PROBLEMS WITH THE HORN AND THE RADIO STILL EXIST.

The horn in my vehicle still periodically does not work. And I do not have time to drive to Quirk every time it happens. I have a job. Where I need to make money to pay for repairs I don’t need, evidently.

I am extremely disappointed with the fact that Quirk is unable to help me and seems unwilling to help. I am upset that my safety is at risk because Quirk was too lazy to look up technical service bulletins (I recently found one poking around on my own – SB-10276 indicates a problem with loose wiring in the Saturn Astra that could cause the horn to periodically not function properly). I am horrified I’ve had to shell out as much money as I have for a repair I most likely did not need. I am saddened that it is just this type of scenario that makes me despise dealership service centers. I can assure you, I will never set foot there again.

The exception would be if 1) you arranged for me to be refunded the money I have spent that I clearly did not need to spend because nothing has been fixed, and 2) you promised me the problem WOULD BE FIXED PERMANENTLY.

I recommend that you train your service staff to be more thorough and to care more about the safety of your customers.

Sincerely,

THIS BITCH (no, I signed my real name)

 

 

7 Days of Positive Thoughts – Day 5

Wow.  I really suck at this posting daily thing.  I need to post for days 5 and 6.

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Day 5 Positive Thought:  Rainy days are perfect for relaxing.

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I love rainy days.  Yes, I love them for the wistfully romantic overtones of rain on the window while someone stares pensively into the cloudy sky.

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But I love them more because they give me the chance to putter around my house in fuzzy socks and lounge about reading a book without feeling any guilt for not being outside (which I distinctly feel when the weather is sunny and brisk).

The Carpenters were crazy to let rainy days get them down.  Eddie Rabbitt had it right when he said he loved a rainy night.  Go figure.

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Don’t call me, I’ll call you. And by that, I mean I won’t. – UPDATED

Conversation between me and the person who called my home phone for a political survey:

(For the record, they call my house in the evenings every half hour until I pick up the phone.  I have asked twice to be removed from the call list.)

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Unsuspecting Survey Person: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “No.  Sorry.”

USP: “We are doing a political survey of people in your area.”

Me: “Still no.”

USP: “When might we call back to speak to her?”

Me: “Probably not ever.”

USP: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Probably not ever.  As in, NEVER.”

USP: “Ooooh….There would be no follow up call after the survey.”

Me: “Ok, then.  Bu-byyyyyyyyye.”

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I know.  I am cranky and don’t feel well.  But, honestly?  STOP FUCKING CALLING MY HOUSE.

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UPDATE:

Someone from this line called me again.  Just now.  (Every half hour, like I said.)

Here’s how that conversation went:

Stupid Asshole Caller: “Hello, may I speak to Heather?”

Me: “Someone from this number just called me a half hour ago.”

SAC: “Yes, well we are doing a survey in your area…”

Me: “Someone from this number called me a half hour ago”

SAC: “It is very important to us to have your input to…”

Me: “You people call me every half hour all the time.”

SAC: “I am sorry about that, ma’am.  But once you do this survey, we will no longer…”

Me: “SOMEONE FROM THIS NUMBER CALLED ME A HALF HOUR AGO.”

SAC: “I know ma’am.  I was asked to call you back…”

Me: “DON’T CALL THIS NUMBER ANYMORE.”

SAC: “Ok.  Thank you.”

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Now let’s see if they call in another half hour.  I think I’ll go get my whistle.

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Things I Just Don’t Understand

1) When Someone Comments on Something Online and Asks what an Acronym Means

You know, someone will be talking about ASPCA and some assmunch will supply the comment: “what does ASPCA stand for?”

Why is this confusing?  Because this person, whoever he or she is, is on a computer.  A computer that is a virtual font of information.  It will also usually be in amongst a string of comments, where somewhere someone else has already spelled out the acronym.  I don’t expect this person to scroll back down, but…hello?  One word:  GOOGLE.

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2) When Someone Calls You and Then Talks to Other People in the Background

Rude.

Seriously, unless your home is burning to the ground, etiquette dictates that you focus on the person on the phone.  This probably has its roots in a time when we paid dearly for every minute we were on the phone – you know, once we were able to get to a phone and turn that rotary dial.  But nowadays it’s just common courtesy.

And also?  If someone is that busy, I would hope they would be taking care of that shit and not calling me.

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3) People Who Circle Like Hawks to Find the Closest Parking Space Possible…to the Gym

This confounds me.  You’re going to the gym, presumably to exercise, and you are riding your ass around the parking lot in stalker fashion to snag the space opening up right next to the handicapped spot?  Bitch, please.  Does that make any sense?

If I had any say, all gyms would be located about a mile from the nearest parking facility and a chainsaw wielding redneck would run at patrons forcing them to make a mad dash to the gym doors.  Weight loss and cardio complete.  You are welcome.

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4) When Friends on Facebook “Like” a Negative Status

So, I have yet to figure out, I guess, this whole “like” thing on Facebook.  I had been using it to express my pleasure at the actual content of a status update or comment.  As in, “I like what you just said because it contained a positive event or humor.”  I have noticed, however, that sometimes friends like a status or comment because of the way it was written.  I guess.  I am making this up.  I don’t really know.  Because I have seen stuff like this:

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Facebook User I woke up today and I was inexplicably bleeding out of my eyeballs.  I look like the Crying Clown of Hell!

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There are people who, rather than express concern that this person is bleeding out of his or her eyes, will “like” this because it has a random witticism in it.  Go figure.

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5) People on Dating Sites Stating He or She is “Down to Earth”

Why?  Dear lord, why?  I wish I had a buck for every time I have seen this on someone’s profile.

What the fuck does this even mean?  And why should this be a draw for a mate?

Does this mean the person is tethered to heavy objects so he doesn’t float away?  Aren’t we all “down to earth” because would anyone say “I am up to the sky”?  (Though I admit if I saw someone write that, I’d propose to him immediately.)  Is “down to earth” meant to entice a mate because it means you know how to till farmland?  I am confused.

I totally feel like Inigo Montoya talking to Vizzini.  People keep using these words and I do not think they mean what they think they mean.

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Naughty words – here they come…or…Stories that make me laugh

I recently recalled a few stories… that are true.  They are funny to me.  Probably because they involve naughty words or suggestive phrases.

Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed living them.

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Story one…

In 2003, I went to Gathering of the Vibes with two of my friends.  It was still being held in upstate New York on a huge parcel of land resembling a farm.  It might actually have been a farm.  It was huge fun (despite a downpour the first night).  I got to see James Brown!  (Weird, right?  At a jam band venue?)  While we were standing amongst a crowd waiting for the next show, my friend Charleen all of a sudden let out a bellowing laugh (this is her normal laugh, btw, hearty and from her toes).  I turned to look and a guy walking towards us had on a shirt that read:

FUCK YOU

YOU FUCKING FUCK

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As the guy walked by, he smiled at Charleen’s laugh (still in progress).  This guy was not huge or anything.  Just meaty.  And you could tell that he could back that t-shirt up one hundred percent.

It gets better.

Fast forward a few years, and in 2006 we went back to the Vibes (minus Charleen).  As my friend Amy and I walked amongst the vendors, I saw the guy.  I knew it was him.  So, I said to Amy, “I think that’s the ‘fuck you you fucking fuck’ guy.”  She said, “oh really” as if to say “that’s cute you see him everywhere now”.

But I walked up to this guy, and the following conversation took place:

Me: Were you here three years ago?

Guy: Yes…

Me: Do you have a t-shirt that says “fuck you you fucking fuck”?

Guy (perking up): Yes!  I do have a t-shirt that says “fuck you you fucking fuck”!

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Aha!  I knew it.  You just don’t forget a dude like that.  Or his aggressive shirt.

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Story two…

My ex-boyfriend was very funny.  He frequently matched my “cut you off at the knees” humor.  But he was also funny in an almost innocent “why are you laughing at that” way.

I don’t have to tell you he watched porn – not regularly like he needed an intervention, but like every guy on this planet watches porn.  Curious about this phenomena (because women just aren’t as into it, I don’t think), I asked him point-blank about this activity.

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Me: So…when you watch porn…do you masturbate?  I mean, is that what you do?

Ex (after some deliberation): Well… sometimes, I guess.  Sometimes, I just have a sandwich.

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A sandwich.

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That?  Has to be the funniest thing anyone has ever said relating to porn.  I instantly got an image of my ex sitting down to lunch and catching up on his porn.  Oh.  My.  God.

I continue to tell this story to this day as an example of how men view porn – part of life as well as part of a balanced meal.

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Last story…

For quite some time, I was a frequent patron of The Strange Brew Tavern (now over 100 beers on tap!).  I still like to go, but for a while I was there every Sunday night to see the blues jam musicians.

And I was not the only one.

There would be others who would also be there every Sunday night.  One of them was a veteran in a wheelchair.  I assumed he was a vet because he wore some type of patriotic ball cap and there were two American flags flying from each side of his chair.

One night, I happened to look over at the back of his chair, and then nearly fell off of mine.  He had a bumper sticker on the back of his wheelchair.  And this is what it said:

MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOM.

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Holy.  Hell.  Oh.  My.  God.

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I think I jabbed a friend and pointed madly.  “Look!”  I mean, that is BRAZEN.  But, you know what?  It was funny as hell and he got away with it.  So, good on him.

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not freaking out…yet

One of my favorite bloggers, The Bloggess, recently posted a link to an article she wrote for oprah.com.  The subject of her article is how she copes with anxiety.

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This got me thinking about how I cope with anxiety.  Let me be clear, though.  I do not have a crippling form of anxiety, and do not claim to go through what people go through who struggle with this every day.  But, right now, being unemployed, I am feeling anxious.  About a lot of things.  Not all of them employment related either.  It’s as if when something goes wrong in your life, it roots up all the other wrong things – and you can run the risk of wallowing in all that is wrong with your existence.

So, how do I cope with anxiety?  I don’t really.  Instead of coping with it, I treat it like a bad puppy.  “Bad Anxiety!  You chewed the couch!  Outside with you!”

I act as if anxiety is an intruder, instead of perhaps a red flag for a very realistic situation.  Because sometime it is.  Sometimes it isn’t.  But sometimes it is.  Like when Anxiety says, “Get a job!”  To which I tell it to stop peeing on the carpet.

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The best (worst) part of all is that being anxious about my employment situation?  DOES NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO HELP IT.  I recognize this, and so I continue to pretend that I cannot picture a day when all my money runs out.

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My best coping mechanism by far is to surround myself with objects I love.  Because when you have things to look at or touch, it gives concrete shape to fears.  I can hold onto something and think “I still have this”.

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All in all, I am doing well.  But I feel like this ability to “do well” has a shelf life that is directly proportional to how long I can pay my mortgage.

In the meantime, anxiety can kiss my white dimpled butt.

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Potty Mouth (per usual)

When I took a hiatus from Facebook, it was for many reasons.  One of those reasons was the close scrutiny of family members.  One thing I would never do is “edit” who viewed my stuff.  If I am friends with someone on Facebook, they see everything.  So, I am back on Facebook and have managed to avoid any drama.  I almost forgot about the scrutiny bit…

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Conversation today between me and my father:

Dad: “I catch hell from your grandmother every time one of you uses bad language – you and your brothers.”

Me: “Yeah, I use bad language.”

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*Note: Now I have to resist the urge to post the following update: Fuckity shit dick.  Thanks, Dad.

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Me: “Even though I could hide it from her, I don’t.”

Dad: “And, sometimes, it’s one of your cousins posting something as a quote from your brother but your brother did not even say it.”

Me: “Yeah, I actually swear a lot.”

Dad: “Yeah…like, did you see the picture of your brother wearing a thong and bikini top?”

Me: “Yes.  That was, actually, quite disturbing.”

Dad: (chuckles) “Yeah, she didn’t like that one.  But, you know, that’s…him.”

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I love how, in my family, all you need to do is be the least offensive one and you’re good.

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Thoughts I had at the gym today:

1)  I am concerned that Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow are going to start a race of sinewy-bony people who make bad music.

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2) While watching a segment on Good Morning America about the screaming trainer on Dance Moms, I wondered why anyone would take instruction about dance from that fat piece of shit.

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3) Just watching the Boston Fox News bitch’s mouth move makes me angry enough to punch a kitten.  Seriously, I JUST HATE HER MOUTH.

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Letter to the lady and her hidey hole

Dear Lady in the Gym Locker Room-

The hand towel you tried to wrap around your body appeared to be merely a pretense at covering up.  Rest assured, I could still see the Hairy Manilow.

At the risk of sounding like a prude, I really don’t want to see cooter after I have worked out and I just want to leave the gym.  Even more, I don’t want to have to gesture towards your snatch to indicate that my jacket is in the locker behind it.

I applaud your confidence, but please cover up the bearded clam.

Sincerely,

Heather

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Princess Leia wearing a bikini does not mean she put out.

Yesterday’s post reminded me of other dolls from my childhood that I wish I’d had the foresight to hang on to.

BEHOLD THIS!

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Anatomically correct if Carrie Fisher had a nubby closed vagina.

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I had this doll and I loved her.  I made the mistake of taking the hair out of the buns (which were small plastic donuts).  I never got them back that way.

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In my nostalgia, I searched for her online.  And someone (I won’t say who) is selling THIS:

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Leia - sluttastic

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Seriously???  Come on, you sell DOLLS.  You can’t tell me you haven’t got some shit to throw on her.  Please.  Give her some dignity.

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And so another part of my childhood dies in a fiery ball of shit.

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