Today, Curly Sue and I drove 1.5 hours to the nearest Volvo dealer. Our little red wagon has been a bit ill lately -- specifically, its brakes -- and we wanted to have them checked. A couple of weeks ago, Geddy took off a Friday and we had scheduled maintenance performed, during which the mechanics could find nothing amiss. Still, the brakes have been grinding and not feeling quite right, so back we went.
Two seatbelts had to be replaced under warranty, and the service manager told me he'd have the brakes checked again. Volvo is meticulous about safety and this dealership is excellent about customer service, so we settled in with a book and snacks for a long wait.
Anticipating a bill of about $500, I transferred some cash from savings to checking this morning, glad I had the foresight when the service manager told us the brakes were going to need replacing. After a not-as-long-as-we-thought wait, I was presented with a bill of $0.00.
"Wait," I said. "I know I don't owe anything for the warranty work, but I need to pay for the brakes."
The manager grinned at me, dismissed me with a wave, and said, "Nope. See you later."
I don't know how or why he did it. Maybe it was a warranty thing, or maybe it was that they hadn't fixed the problem last time even though we expressed concerns. Maybe he's a really great guy who works at a really phenomenal car dealership (does one exist?!). Could be a combination.
Days like today, though, the handbasket to hell slows down a little.
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