That's Life: Drama queen in action

Dear That’s Life,

Scene: A family meal 35 minutes before the beginning of Yom Kippur.

A niece who shall not be named is asked by her mother to leave the table or apologize to all present after she manages to touch most of the mashed potatoes left in the bowl.

“I’m sorry,” she said, adding, “Was that good?”

“It would have been if it had been sincere,” her mother replied.

“It was sincere,” the young drama queen shot back. “Look, I’m teary.”

Mayer Fertig

Dear That’s Life,

Funny thing about a car is that one does not appreciate how nice it is to have a working, dependable car until your car is no longer working or dependable.

Truthfully, I am low-maintenance and don’t have many demands, but I do insist that when I turn my key in the ignition, my car actually starts.  I do not think it is too much to ask that when I want to go somewhere, my car should allow me to do that. It should not be a scene out of the Flintstones, with Fred’s feet pedaling through the bottom of the car. Nor should it be that when I get in the car, one of my children inevitably screams, “c’mon car!” like a moment from The Little Engine That Could.

I called the service center, as the car is still under warranty, and the woman who answered said she remembered me. Of course she did - we have been in numerous times over the last couple of months and we just picked the car back up less than two weeks ago after a mechanic claimed he found “nothing wrong with it.” When I explained that the issue was not resolved and the car still was having trouble starting, she told me she would not take the car back for servicing.

“What?!” I said. “You are refusing to service my car?” The answer was “yes,” and she explained that two mechanics were out, the center was completely backlogged and she had been instructed not to schedule any more cars for servicing for at least a week. Shocked, I then did the most logical thing I could think of: I asked her for her cell phone number. “You want my phone number?” she asked, very confused, and I told her I did.

“But why?” she asked and I explained. “That’s so when I can’t start my car and I am stuck somewhere and am in labor, I know just who to call to come get me.” After a bit of a pause, she then asked me to hold on a moment so she could see what she could do.

Moments later, she got back on the phone and asked me to call back the next day to speak to the manager. No problem, I replied, at which point she asked me if I was expecting my first child. “No,” I said, “my sixth,” to which she exclaimed after putting all of the pieces of the puzzle together, “What?! Why aren’t you staying in bed in your ninth month instead of driving around town?” I explained that with five other children, life had to go on and there was no time for lounging in bed, eating cookies. A little annoyed at this point, I said, “Now, do you understand why my car should be the LEAST complicated thing in my life?”

Suffice it to say that the manager was less than excited to speak to us nor was he happy to see us when we came into the service center. The welcome we received was the equivalent to Gaddafi’s arrival on US soil.  After taking the keys from us yet again, he reminded us the deal we had made over the phone: if he found nothing wrong with the car as he did ten days before, I was going to pay for the car rental they had arranged. It was a bet I was willing to make.

Less than twenty-four hours later, he called me at home.

“Mrs. Wallach,” he said. “Your car needs some serious work and you are not crazy.”

I laughed for a while and told him I knew I wasn’t crazy and said I was happy we were now on the same page. After he finished reviewing the long list of problems with my car, I confirmed that he, in fact, would be covering the cost of the rental, which he said he obviously would. I then and asked why, if they had the car ten days before, did they not find anything wrong with it and now, it sounded like my car was on life support.

“Well,” the manager explained, “there are some better doctors out there and some not better doctors, and the same is true about mechanics.”

Now I was silenced.

“That,” I said, “was a very good answer.”

Game, set, match.  Winner: Mike and the Mechanics.

MLW

Scene: A family meal 35 minutes before the beginning of Yom Kippur:

A niece who shall not be named is asked by her mother to leave the table or apologize to all present after she manages to touch most of the mashed potatoes left in the bowl.

“I’m sorry,” she said, adding, “Was that good?”

“It would have been if it had been sincere,” her mother replied.

“It was sincere,” the young drama queen shot back. “Look, I’m teary.”

Funny thing about a car is that one does not appreciate how nice it is to have a working, dependable car until your car is no longer working or dependable.

Truthfully, I am low-maintenance and don’t have many demands, but I do insist that when I turn my key in the ignition, my car actually starts.  I do not think it is too much to ask that when I want to go somewhere, my car should allow me to do that. It should not be a scene out of the Flintstones, with Fred’s feet pedaling through the bottom of the car. Nor should it be that when I get in the car, one of my children inevitably screams, “c’mon car!” like a moment from The Little Engine That Could.

I called the service center, as the car is still under warranty, and the woman who answered said she remembered me. Of course she did - we have been in numerous times over the last couple of months and we just picked the car back up less than two weeks ago after a mechanic claimed he found “nothing wrong with it.” When I explained that the issue was not resolved and the car still was having trouble starting, she told me she would not take the car back for servicing.

“What?!” I said. “You are refusing to service my car?” The answer was “yes,” and she explained that two mechanics were out, the center was completely backlogged and she had been instructed not to schedule any more cars for servicing for at least a week. Shocked, I then did the most logical thing I could think of: I asked her for her cell phone number. “You want my phone number?” she asked, very confused, and I told her I did.

“But why?” she asked and I explained. “That’s so when I can’t start my car and I am stuck somewhere and am in labor, I know just who to call to come get me.” After a bit of a pause, she then asked me to hold on a moment so she could see what she could do.

Moments later, she got back on the phone and asked me to call back the next day to speak to the manager. No problem, I replied, at which point she asked me if I was expecting my first child. “No,” I said, “my sixth,” to which she exclaimed after putting all of the pieces of the puzzle together, “What?! Why aren’t you staying in bed in your ninth month instead of driving around town?” I explained that with five other children, life had to go on and there was no time for lounging in bed, eating cookies. A little annoyed at this point, I said, “Now, do you understand why my car should be the LEAST complicated thing in my life?”

Suffice it to say that the manager was less than excited to speak to us nor was he happy to see us when we came into the service center. The welcome we received was the equivalent to Gaddafi’s arrival on US soil.  After taking the keys from us yet again, he reminded us the deal we had made over the phone: if he found nothing wrong with the car as he did ten days before, I was going to pay for the car rental they had arranged. It was a bet I was willing to make.

Less than twenty-four hours later, he called me at home.

“Mrs. Wallach,” he said. “Your car needs some serious work and you are not crazy.”

I laughed for a while and told him I knew I wasn’t crazy and said I was happy we were now on the same page. After he finished reviewing the long list of problems with my car, I confirmed that he, in fact, would be covering the cost of the rental, which he said he obviously would. I then and asked why, if they had the car ten days before, did they not find anything wrong with it and now, it sounded like my car was on life support.

“Well,” the manager explained, “there are some better doctors out there and some not better doctors, and the same is true about mechanics.”

Now I was silenced.

“That,” I said, “was a very good answer.”

Game, set, match.  Winner: Mike and the Mechanics.