Yesterday, I spent seven hours sitting in a chair at a Mercedes dealer.
In September, I bought a 2023 Mercedes Benz GLC 300. My first luxury car purchase.
My first car purchase ever, in fact. You may have known or loved my iconic little blue b***h. A 2006 Honda Civic that my mom purchased for me my freshman year of college. A dependable, reliable car that would last me a very long time. And that it did!
For 18 years I drove that b***h. Everywhere, it seemed, but not even that much because at the end she only had 120,000 miles on her.
But the front bumper was zip-tied on, the passenger side mirror was missing, and the air conditioning had just given out. I could have fixed her, but no. It was time.
So I bought a Mercedes-Benz. Cue Janis Joplin.
The last several years have been rough, and I drove a b***h for 18 years. I deserve this.
It’s a pre-owned car, used by the dealership for one year as a loaner. I wanted something used, it took 10k off the price, and at this point, literally anything is a massive upgrade. I didn’t even have bluetooth for the last 18 years. I had a CD player.
My new car is gorgeous. It’s glossy black, with a sienna brown interior, and it is so sleek and luxe. I love it.
But since I brought it home eight weeks ago, I’ve had nothing but problems. Not with the car, but with the dealership.
The first thing that was funky happened when I got home. I pulled out the extra key to put with the other extra keys, but when I clicked it, nothing happened. It didn’t work. So I look at the manual packet, and notice that the sticker on the packet says it’s for a Nautical Blue car.
So I think s**t, they sent me home with the wrong packet. I text my sales guy and let him know. He’s like oh, so sorry, will send the right one out to you. So he does. OK, fine.
A few weeks later, a text from the sales guy.
“Hey Allison, we need you to come back in to re-sign some papers. We made a mistake on the first set.”
I’m like what’s the mistake?
“The VIN number”
They sold me the car with the wrong VIN. And didn’t catch it. For almost a month.
I’d already taken the car on a road trip to Ventura – six hours each way. Comfortably cruising about, driving a car not registered to me.
So I have to go back to the dealership to re-sign paperwork. The dealership is 35-40 mins away from my home. It’s not close or convenient.
But it’s fine. I can combine a stop at the dealership with an Ohio State alumni football watch party location I wanted to check out on that side of town.
I assume the process will be quick. I’ve told them I’m coming – advance warning was given.
But alas, I sit in the freezing cold lobby for an hour and fifteen minutes.
Finally, I’m called back and chat with a jovial fellow who shows me where to tap on the tablet to digitally sign and initial. The last papers were hand-signed. I do not know if there is any significance to this. But I do wonder – if it’s all digital, why did it take so long to update?I’m not complaining, I’m just cold and I’ve missed the first quarter of the game at this point. Which is fine, because the watch party location…isn’t. It’s a BJ’s Brewhouse and there is nary a person in sight. I leave immediately, dejected.
A detail I’ve forgotten: I intended to bring the manual packet and extra key back to the dealer during the VIN visit. I was convinced I’d brought it, told the sales guy it was on my passenger seat. But when I arrived home I saw it, sitting on the ledge next to the front door.
I let the sales guy know and he said fine, no worries, enjoy your car. The one that’s now legally registered in my name.
Two weeks ago, he hits me up again. They’ve sold the blue car, and they need the packet. I respond that I’ll return it when I can, but I don’t have plans to be in the area soon.
Jordan has been like – do not go there. Make them come to you. Have them send you something to send this back in.
But I want to be rid of my attachment to this dealership. I want to drive my car in peace.
But because I’m the people pleaser that I am, I find a craft show to visit, partially because it’s in proximity to the dealer. It’s a sunny fall Sunday, I drop the packet off, I’m on my way. I drink a delicious Marshmallow IPA, and all is well, yes?
NO! B******t strikes again when, on a morning jaunt to Dutch Bros, I notice my check engine light is on. At least, I think it’s my check engine light. I open the glove box, reach for the manual.
EMPTY! The glovebox is empty save for an insurance car that I asked Jordan to toss in for me. I hadn’t noticed its absence.
The sales guy must have taken it when he couldn’t find the one I insisted was on my passenger seat.
I really am a polite person though, so I’ve not made a fuss about any of this. But come on. This is a lot. I text my man.
This should not be happening just a few weeks in. So he’s like Absolutely, you’re right, a service tech will get you in right away.
I make an appointment for Monday at 10, planning to bring my laptop and get a couple of hours of work done. I arrived at 10:03. I noted the time – as I pulled in I ended a 2-hour phone call with my best friend.
Close to 11, they check me in. “Soo sorry, sooo busy, as you can see.”
The service guy, a lovely man with a British? accent and perfectly defined curls tells me that there are literally 257 reasons a check engine light could trigger, and they’re gonna need til the afternoon to run all the tests. He offers me an Uber home.
Great, I’ll happily Uber home, I say, but will I get an Uber back? I live 40 mins away…
Ah, he says. I suggest a loaner. I’ll head out to a cafe and work.
“Well, if you’re just going to work and want to wait, waiters get priority,” he said in his lovely accent.
I can wait. I’m just going to work anyway, I can do it here. I take a seat and do a couple hours of work as intended. Then I spend an hour or so figuring out my insurance coverage for next year.
It’s around 2:00 when I realize how long it’s been with no update, he comes over around 2:30.
They can’t find any problems with the car. They’re recharging the battery - 25 mins into an hour long charge – and the “Master Technician” is considering keeping it overnight and taking it on a long drive to try to recreate the problem. If so, they’ll give me a loaner to go home. He’ll return with an update. I nod and smile. I consider asking him what he uses on his hair, but I resist.
At this point, I’m getting restless. My work is done, I’m trying to read, but I’m fidgety.
I’m vaping outside. I’m vaping in the bathroom. I found the name of a girl I went to high school with printed on the packaging for toilet covers. I don’t know what this means.
Not until 4:00 did he return to say that again, they couldn’t find any problems. If I’m driving a long way home anyway, no point in them keeping the car to do it themselves – I should just call if it comes on again. I am irritated. All of this. For nothing.
I don’t even have my plates and registration yet! The wrong ones arrived, but I can’t use those!
During the intake, I’d asked for a car wash and for them to fill my tank of gas. He chuckled a bit and said he’d see what he could do.
So I ask again. “It’s been washed?” I prompt. “And the gas?”
“If it hasn’t been done, I’ll do it myself now,” he said. I am appreciative.
25 mins later, he comes over again. “Were you working with someone who said we’d fill the tank for you? Was this a prior arrangement with a salesman? Or is it because of the inconvenience?”“I am inconvenienced. I am requesting it,” I said. He smiles and shuffles off.
Around 5, an associate from the checkout desk comes over.
“Hey girl, you’ve been here a long time. Like, my whole shift. They should be paying you.”
She has sympathy for my plight and walks off to check on things.
AT FIVE THIRTY, I am handed the keys to my car. The check engine light has been turned off. It is washed and vacuumed. And we’ve given you $30 worth of gas, the attendant says as I’m walking out.
I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.
I’d been hoping to do a little shopping at World Market and Trader Joe’s post-appointment. Take the dog for a walk. Cook a dinner.
But alas. I left the dealer when it was pitch dark outside, and found myself an hour later eating supermarket fried chicken out of a bag because I hadn’t eaten all day and it was the most convenient thing available.
It’s fine, it was a generally productive day overall. I got work done. We got insurance done – that was important! And I did do some reading, from Table for Two, a collection of short stories set in New York and a novella set in Los Angeles by Amor Towles. I’m LOVING it. I’m about to start the novella.
I have no real takeaways. Find the positive in shitty days? I’ve learned nothing from this experience. Be less polite, perhaps?
I ended the day by breathing Buddy’s breaths while we snugged in our cozy bed, and that felt pretty luxurious to me.
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