First World Problems Via Range Rover

It’s not Monday, but it sure feels like it. It’s been a comedy of errors.

All. Day. Long.

Dylan asked me whom I pissed off today. I don’t know, but I’m ready to buy whoever it is a glass of wine and call it a night.

Two of the girls had orthodontics appointments this morning. I adjusted my schedule and made my way to the office on a tight time frame. The doctor was running late, hence I was now running late for appointments I had already pushed back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Our Ortho guy is awesome and he is also a friend, so I didn’t lose my shit. Well done me.

Working for a non-profit agency has its quirks. I thought it was my lucky day when I found a coveted parking spot right in front of the building and didn’t have to walk the usual mile in the rain.
Woot! Woot! My day was turning around.

No it wasn’t. That parking spot would actually ruin my day, but I don’t want to get to ahead of myself.

My computer froze four times while writing a report that needed to be submitted to the government before 3:30pm. Yes, I lost what I had written four times. Shush you asking, “Did you save it?” Cleary I did not. But I learned my lesson on the fourth try and was able to save the document before a forced quit. Look at me learning new things today.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

As I was preparing to leave for my next appointment that I was running late for, a colleague called to inform me that “Holy Shit! Did you know your back tire is completely flat?” The same tire I had patch-repaired just last Monday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In hindsight, I should have paid more attention when I wondered why the car next to me was making a hissing sound as I locked my car upon exit one hour earlier.

I drive a Range Rover.

Zip it with your ‘Awe poor muffin’s Range Rover has a flatty tire’.
I get it…First World Problem.

But I paid my dues with years in a minivan.  So as one would expect with the purchase of a luxury vehicle, one phone call and Roadside Assistance was en-route and arrived within minutes. I also expect them to wipe my ass for me, but apparently that detail is not in the fine print. 

I prayed all the way to the dealership that it would be a quick repair and I would be on my way. I knew that Dylan probably wouldn’t appreciate the gift of our first-born child in exchange for a new tire. No such luck. A big twisty piece of metal had corkscrewed its way into the tire and apparently no amount of crazy glue and duct tape would fix that shit.

I calmly told them to get’er done and put a new tire on that bad boy while I figured out the quickest way to make the money needed. Drug Lord and Lady of the Night seemed like feasible options at that point. 

Only to be informed that the tire required was out of stock. 

And would take 7-10 business days to arrive.

Breath in. Breath out.

Math is not my forte, but I quickly counted the days of the week on my fingers and came to the conclusion that ten days does not get me a tire before, oh wait, TODAY!!! Or for the out of town basketball tournament this weekend. And next weekend. Or for work tomorrow. Or to pick up the kids from school. Or to drive to the liquor store tonight.

Alas, the man helping me saw the rage in my eyes. I may have felt a wee bit sorry for him dealing with  bat-shit crazy me, but I can say he was amazing. He called around the entire city to see if anyone had one of these ever so special tires. He calmly told me I was shit out of luck. Only he was more professional.  I was offered four brand new different tires. But I only wanted one? Why do I need four? 

Apparently ‘balancing the load’ is important.

That’s what she said.

I began to panic as my options were pulling a Houdini before my eyes. I tranquilly asked him to explain why in city of over a million people with a plethora of Oil and Gas money for spendy cars…there were no freaking tires available. He explained the Theory of Supply and Demand. He looked confused as I explained my own theory that I demand a tire so he needs to supply it. Now. Please.

I looked around the show room and parking lot. Viola!!!!! Six, count them six, of my exact make and models sat sparkling in the sunlight right in front of me. It was as if God himself had sent me a sign. There were 24 of the exact tires I needed sitting there taunting me.

Problem solved.
They said no.

I still don’t know why as it seemed like a very reasonable solution to me. Apparently the other cars who NO ONE OWNS AND NO ONE DRIVES need there precious tires to SIT IN A PARKING LOT AND NOT DRIVE for necessity.

I asked for a courtesy car. Its Range Rover after all and it wasn’t like I had asked for them to wipe my ass. Yet.  Service dude had to ask a manager. The manager conveyed this message through his go-between:

“Although it was a road hazard and therefore not under warranty, because the part is back ordered we can usually provide a courtesy car”

That’s better. I peed a little.

“However, because “technically” the tires are not a Range Rover product, we cannot help you.

Translate: Ooooh, sorry about your luck but thanks ever so much for all your money.

Umm. Range Rover built the vehicle right? Range Rover chose and put these special-gold-filled-pope-worthy-freaking-rubber-round-things around the Range Rover embossed rim right? I feel confused. You are not going to help me based on a ‘technicality’? Are you effing kidding me? 

My guess is your not gonna wipe my ass either?

I calmly walked into the parking lot and the kind service man helping me followed behind carrying the rubber-less million-dollar rim to put in the back of my car. I politely told him that this customer service experience had left me feeling less than pleased and truly doubting my choice in dealership and brand. That it simply wasn’t worth the hassle (kidding, I fricken’ love my ride) and if I still owned a GMC I would be driving safely away toward home in a dealership courtesy car. He asked if I wanted to speak to the Assistant Service Peon Manager to which I kindly declined, as I needed to calm down first.

Plus, I don’t think a grown woman snot-hanging crying in the lobby makes anyone feel warm and fuzzy.

Piss poor Range Rover. Piss poor. Customer service is really important. Especially when said customer writes a blog that thousands of people from all over the world read each day.

Just saying.

I drove my sorry ass home on the spare tire going 80km/hour in the slow lane down the freeway (that’s like 50/miles per hour for my American friends…sweet balls my math is on fire today) whilst people were speeding past me flipping me the bird and rolling their eyes. Like I don’t get enough eye-rolls from the basement trolls I live with.

Cleary no one could see my tears or the pony tire. I wanted to shout out that I CAN handle the freeway at fast speeds!  I promise. Trust me, I have the bill from the lawyer I had to hire to keep my drivers license from my last ticket to prove it.

FYI…cops are not all that lenient when you are going 52km/hour over the limit.

But that’s a story for another day.

And then I stubbed my baby toe.

And Dylan has a man-cold.

Send wine.
Please.

Xo J

PS. The thoughts expressed in this blog regarding Range Rover Customer Service are my own and do not represent…blah blah blah. Up until now it has been a great experience owning this make of vehicle. (Well anything’s an upgrade after the Loser Cruiser right?)

I have left a message for the Dealership Manager and was assured he would call me back tonight. After all, it’s not fair to bitch unless you give them a chance to fix it. 

Its 11:00pm…I’m not holding my breath, but I will keep you postedJ

Addendum June 20, 2013: After a lovely call with the dealership manager, a courtesy car is being located for me as I type this.
Good Job Range Rover:)