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I know, the third one is coming out. But we only gots two, both of the Smart variety, and those have had me playing a lovely game of Service Department Deja Vu this week.
Monday was mine. Nothing wrong; just these cars expect to be serviced every 10,000 miles at the Mercedes dealership, und you vill LIKE it! I made the appointment last week, and I rolled in first thing Monday. The first oddity of service here is what greets you in the driveway of the reception area:
A pristine '66 Corvette. What that has to do with the Benz brand, much less little putt-putts like mine (other than the red color), I've no clue. Once you get past that conundrum, though, you are brought into their German world of ruthless efficiency. Check in here, sign there, move to the waiting room-slash-pro shop where all your branded Beastie Boy Medallion merch is on offer while you wait. Wifi secured, Starbucks from a military-grade Keurig machine, you do what you do: a little work, a little internet, you finish the Handmaids Tale episode you'd been meaning to finish. And you people-watch. Dropping Smart car owners in amongst the Masters of the Mercedes Universe is a sort of reverse slumming; you get to see the Stepford wives in their SUV panzers, the graying duffers bringing in their penis cars, the millennial kids who can't parallel park a luxury car to save their lives; and the Help, who stepin fetchit to the owners' every whim.
So naturally I got to do it again this morning.
----
Eleanor's Smart car popped an airbag idiot light the other day. It's been intermittent, but it's nothing to trifle with, especially after I spent the better part of last year tooling around in a 2010 Honda Deathtrap. This is my light week for court and such, other than yesterday when I had something like seven different hearings in four separate cases, but fortunately all at the same time and place. (It did run longer than expected, so for the first time I used the "add time" feature of Buffalo's cool new parking-meter app:) So when she scheduled Ziggy for his checkup this morning, I volunteered to meet her there and wait for him.
Same drill, different day. Maw cawfee, maw work, and the newer (and final of the season) Handmaid's Tale to catch up on. Same Corvette; same parade of people to watch. Unfortunately, no resolution; the airbags are fine, but one of the seatbelt sensors needs to be replaced. Which means it's Cars 3 after all, as I'll have to bring him back next Tuesday, the only day next week I don't have court.
And given the diagnosis, I guess I'll resume watching Sense8 over there.
Monday was mine. Nothing wrong; just these cars expect to be serviced every 10,000 miles at the Mercedes dealership, und you vill LIKE it! I made the appointment last week, and I rolled in first thing Monday. The first oddity of service here is what greets you in the driveway of the reception area:
A pristine '66 Corvette. What that has to do with the Benz brand, much less little putt-putts like mine (other than the red color), I've no clue. Once you get past that conundrum, though, you are brought into their German world of ruthless efficiency. Check in here, sign there, move to the waiting room-slash-pro shop where all your branded Beastie Boy Medallion merch is on offer while you wait. Wifi secured, Starbucks from a military-grade Keurig machine, you do what you do: a little work, a little internet, you finish the Handmaids Tale episode you'd been meaning to finish. And you people-watch. Dropping Smart car owners in amongst the Masters of the Mercedes Universe is a sort of reverse slumming; you get to see the Stepford wives in their SUV panzers, the graying duffers bringing in their penis cars, the millennial kids who can't parallel park a luxury car to save their lives; and the Help, who stepin fetchit to the owners' every whim.
So naturally I got to do it again this morning.
----
Eleanor's Smart car popped an airbag idiot light the other day. It's been intermittent, but it's nothing to trifle with, especially after I spent the better part of last year tooling around in a 2010 Honda Deathtrap. This is my light week for court and such, other than yesterday when I had something like seven different hearings in four separate cases, but fortunately all at the same time and place. (It did run longer than expected, so for the first time I used the "add time" feature of Buffalo's cool new parking-meter app:) So when she scheduled Ziggy for his checkup this morning, I volunteered to meet her there and wait for him.
Same drill, different day. Maw cawfee, maw work, and the newer (and final of the season) Handmaid's Tale to catch up on. Same Corvette; same parade of people to watch. Unfortunately, no resolution; the airbags are fine, but one of the seatbelt sensors needs to be replaced. Which means it's Cars 3 after all, as I'll have to bring him back next Tuesday, the only day next week I don't have court.
And given the diagnosis, I guess I'll resume watching Sense8 over there.