Hell On Heels

And, just like that, Nissan realizes it can, in fact, fix it's own mistake. 

As promised, I showed up to the local Nissan showroom, baby in tow.  I had dropped my oldest off at pre-school, and we had a few hours to take care of business.  They didn't open until 9, so I did my hair, put on my favorite bootie heels, (no need to look both angry and sloppy), grabbed some animal crackers for the baby, and we were off.

Our salesman, Steve, was the first to see me walk in the door.  After I explained why I was there, he thanked me (which he had done several times during my explanation), and sat down with me while we waited for the manager, who was in, to speak to me.  The guy I do not care for at all was not there.  Lucky him.  I did, however, make it known to the entire showroom, that I did not appreciate his attitude toward his employees, and how he did not take into account his customers as he argued with each and every one of them while we were buying the car.  Then came the part where I admonished them for leaving the guilt trip on my voice mail... which gets translated to text and saved as an mp3, mind you, so we will have that little nugget forever if we wish.  Anywho... after explaining how ignorant and juvenile it was to throw an innocent coworker under the bus, and then to try to make me feel guilty about the abuse they were about to inflict upon him and his family by withholding his paycheck for someone else's mistake unless I were to go out of my way and fix their mistake for them, I started accepting apologies.  One weenie hid from me the entire time.  He was the dude that called my house, actually.. and the guy I was asking about when I walked into the building and very loudly asked "Which one of you is Allan?!"  He did not make eye contact with me once.  I guess he was feeling Ke$hamed.  (Little inside joke for my friends, there...)  Anyway, I was promised that it would never happen again, and they admitted that was so wrong and oh so childish for him to do.  They also let me know they were no longer holding the salesman's paycheck, and he, himself, confirmed that. 

I had them call the bank in front of me, and gave them all the contact information they needed for the gentleman we had spoken with the night before.  Of course, they confirmed what my husband emailed to the dealer and what I so loudly informed them of in the middle of the joint.  They just need to follow the instructions, and do their damn job, and it will be fine.  There is no reason to send us to the DMV to fix their mistake without them having to be accountable in any way for our lost time, wages, face herpes contraction from the utter filth that covers every surface in the DMV, a babysitter or our sanity (which would be lost if we had to take our kids with us).

Now, tomorrow I will find time to call corporate to explain to them what this dealership is up to.  I doubt they want that kind of representation.  After my long lecture on what good customer service is, and the many ways in which they failed to meet even mediocre standards of such, and my follow up call tomorrow, their customer service makeover shall be complete.  (As long as they follow through with amending their ridiculous behavior towards each other and their customers).  Really, they should be thanking me.  I am doing them a huge favor, and I did it for free.  I should have left them with a "Now, don't fuck this up."  Instead I went with "Maybe Allan can stop being a weenie and blaming his coworkers and calling his customers to guilt them into fixing his mistakes.  Man up and fix your own mistakes."

As I left, I realized the size difference between me and these men.  My husband was worried that I would end up biting off more than I could chew (he was already aware of the size difference, and how mean they were to each other out in the open, in front of customers).  I wagered there is nothing a big ol' man wants to avoid like a little ol' angry and very loud woman in the middle of a public place.  Guess which one of us was right?  They kept calling him and trying to get him to fix the problem.  Now they're apologizing up and down, and the problem is miraculously fixed.  Also, the salesman thanked me so much for standing up for him, and taking the time to make this right for him.  (Not fix Allan McWeenie's mistake, but make sure he stopped trying to shift the problem onto Steve).  He thanked me, and gave me the number for the main office of the dealer.  Then we made out.  Okay, so I made that last part about making out up, but his appreciation was clear.  I shouldn't have had to do it, but I'm certainly not going to stand back and watch someone take the fall for someone else without saying something.  Because I am not a weenie.