New Tires

Our car needed new tires, so Jared made an appointment with some place we'd never been before. (I'd tell you the name of it, but we could never figure it out. He found it through the NTB website store locator, but the sign on the actual building said Merchant Tires, and the posters/brochures inside sang the praises of Tire King.)

Our appointment was for 1:00 p.m. We arrived at 12:55 (I'd like to say we're always punctual, but in reality, it was a total fluke.) We spoke with Dean, who ascertained what tires we wanted, signed an estimate, etc., etc. By the time that was completed, it was 1:15. Dean told us it would take approximately an hour and a half.

Well, that was cutting it close-- we had plans to meet friends for "lunch" at 3:00-- but it would be okay. In the meantime, we had the stroller and diaper bag, and there were some stores nearby to wander . . . including a Dollar General, which happily stocked a new kind of pregnancy test I'd been seeking (www.PeeOnAStick.com). We wandered for an hour, before we finally walked back to the tire place and sat in their customer lounge.

La-dee-dah . . . another 45 minutes passed. Rora sat in her stroller, calmly eating Rice Chex and sipping her juice. Right. On Planet Not. In actuality, she sat in her stroller eating one Rice Chex (Check?) for every two she threw overboard before turning her sippy cup upside down and banging it on her stroller tray. When I finally released Her Highness from the Royal Restraints, she naturally gravitated toward the 2 Chex that had escaped my noticed and stepped on them, grinding Chex Dust into the dark blue carpet.

At this point, we were already late for lunch. I left Jared to chase Kid while I exited the building to inspect our car. It was up on a rack, in the same condition it had been 45 minutes earlier when we returned from roaming: 2 tires off completely, the other 2 the same old ones. A stack of 4 new tires sat on the ground underneath it.

A mechanic was filling out something on a clipboard nearby, and I asked him, "Any idea how much longer for this car?"

He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Well after these tires go on, it still needs to be aligned, and there are 2 cars ahead of you." My eyes bugged out. "So, how much longer are we talking about? Like another hour?" "Oh, at LEAST," he replied.

I thanked him icily and stormed into the building, where an employee noticed my sour face and asked how he could help me. I explained that we were given an estimate of 1.5 hours, it had now been almost 2, and we were facing "at least another hour."

"Who told you an hour and a half?" he asked, as though that were a crazily low time frame. "Dean," I replied. "Well," he continued, "I'm sorry he told you that, but we're really busy, there are lots of cars ahead of you."

"Ah," I said, "but I had an appointment."

Time for HIS eyes to bug out. "An appointment?"

"Yeah, at one o'clock."

"Oh," he said. "I'll be right back." He walked away, with Kill Dean clearly written in his eyes.

Bottom line: Dean incorrectly marked/filed the paperwork, putting several walk-in cars ahead of us despite our appointment status. Our car had been neglected the entire time (save the removal of 2 tires.) They bumped us to the head of the crowd, but it still took another hour. We ended up meeting our friends for dinner at 5.

Naturally, the toddler who did not get a nap as a result of the extended tire expedition was incredibly well-behaved during dinner and definitely did not shriek, throw two meatballs, and toss her juice cup at a passer-by.