I’M supposed to get Alfonsis the Alfa serviced.
I know this because there is a huge, some would call it an average-sized, sticker on the windscreen telling me to get it serviced.
The problem is – I just don’t want to.
Like, firstly, I’m frightened of garages. They are full of mechanics covered in oil.
And I mean, to be honest, mechanics, in my experience, are not very friendly.
They have zero tolerance for my not knowing anything about cars and I constantly live in fear that they are going to rip me off.
They also scowl at me and sometimes I think they want to rub oil in my face.
I don’t know how they exist in a world full of car oil; I’m sure it gets on their clothes, you know. I certainly wouldn’t tolerate those working conditions.
They should demand a cleaner working environment, I think; it might make them nicer to me.
To be perfectly frank, the entire garage set-up is too masculine and too intimidating, I don’t like it, I just don’t like it.
I also don’t like the fact that I have to service Alfonsis full stop.
Why can’t the car-maker people just make cars that go properly and don’t need to be fixed all the time, hmmm?
It’s a con, I reckon, a big con job.
Everyone is in cahoots together: the mechanics and the car-maker people and the oil companies and whoever else is involved in the motor industry; they are all out to get me, I’m positive of it.
And, might I add, getting your car serviced is so inconvenient.
Why don’t garages provide nice sit-down areas with teaand coffee-making facilities and maybe a few sandwiches and magazines, too?
Actually ... while I’m at it, I’d go take Alfonsis to the garage all the time if they also had a little room where I could maybe indulge in, say, a manicure and pedicure whilst the car was being seen to.
If you really wanted to push the boat out, you could also offer spray tans and massages on the side.
That way, I could kill the time with worthwhile activities.
And while I’m thinking about it, they could maybe provide a little taxi service to and from your abode. That would be lovely.
I mean, if I have to go somewhere remote to get Alfonsis serviced, how am I supposed to get out of there?
You know it takes all day to get your car serviced, and if I’m out in the back of beyonds, down a country lane after sourcing the cheapest car-service garage man, what am I supposed to do with myself?
I can’t leave, obviously, because he has my car. And it’s cold outside, too, so I’m hardly going to stand around for three million hours waiting for them to finish.
I’d surely catch pneumonia and die.
Everyone would be happier if garages just took my advice and the mechanics wouldn’t be scowling because they would have a nice area to wash the oil off their hands.
It would be very handy for them (pardon the pun) because, you know, if they had a hot date after work or anything they could just pop into the salon to get their cuticles seen to.
I’m quite positive I’m not the only person facing this car service dilemma.
Perhaps I should go and draft a document outlining my ideas. I might tout the idea around.
I’d imagine there will be a phenomenal uptake.