Another Case of Self-Absorbed Assholism
I was waiting for my car to be finished, reading The Red Star of Cadiz for my return gig to book reviewing when the phone call came in. Somebody wanted his brakes checked out. The woman behind the counter manned the call.
"We're pretty booked up today," she told him. "If you can make it in by nine, though, we can have someone look at it."
That was the extent of the call.
9:20. He is in earth tones. Long hair in a pony tail. Beard. Sandals. No socks. Mid-twenties. A Northcoast Environmental Center hoodie on. Figures.
"I'm the guy with the Ranger with the brakes," he tells her. "I know I was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, but I had stuff in the truck."
Reason one I hate this guy. If you are supposed to be someone at a set time. Be there. If you are going to be late, don't play it off by minimizing the amount of time you are late. We can read clocks. You apparently can't.
"Okay," the woman said. "Are you going to wait with us."
"How long will it take?"
"Thirty to forty-five minutes to-"
"That quick? Cool," he says, cutting her off.
"To do the inspection," she finishes.
"Okay. Cool. So it will be done today?"
"If we have the parts," she explains.
"Oh, right. If you have the parts. Do you?"
"I don't know," she tells him. I have put my book down and am watching in amazement. "The technician has to do the inspection to see what is needed."
"Well, can't he just check to see if he has the parts?"
The woman does her best not to jam a pen in the guy's eye. "No. He has to do an inspection to determine what parts are needed. He's not going to stop the job he's doing to check to see if he has parts, which he doesn't even know which ones he'll need."
"Oh," the guy says. "Right on. It's probably just pads. I hope it's just pads. He can't check to see if you have the pads?"
"It could also be the rotor, calipers ..." she starts.
Reason two why I hate people like this. They, like many others, think they are the most important person in the universe. They exist in a bubble with everyone around them there to serve. It's a sense of entitlement earned by nothing more than a degree of self-awareness. This guy was late to his fucking appointment, he downplayed how late he was, and then he wants to pull the technician off the job he's working on to see if they have parts in stock for a problem that has yet to have been diagnosed. Doesn't matter that the person whose car is being worked on was there on time for their appointment, and was there first. That doesn't matter one bit. It's all me, me, me. Fucking child in the body of a man.
"Right on. Okay. So will it be done today?"
"If we have the parts." She has explained this twice. I have determined that if he asks her to have the technician check again, I will beat him to death with the sample muffler sitting on the rack in front of me. It will be marvelous, prolonged and applauded by all who have encountered the young moron. I may even get a fucking medal.
"So are you going to wait with us?"
"No. I'll take a walk. It's gotta be done pretty quick, though. I have an appointment in McKinleyville soon."
Reason three! Pretty fucking self-explanatory. Don't show up late and then expect people to meet your every demand. Don't make appointments when you know you have another one. Why isn't suicide more heavily promoted. It's not the depressed people who should be taking their lives, though. It's people like this asshole.
"We will get it done as soon as possible."
And with that he walks out ... taking his fucking keys with him! He realizes his mistake (one in a long line of mistakes to be sure) and returns scant moments later, but the damage has been done. I want this fucker's skin on a line drying in the sun.
Never let someone else's bad planning and emergency become your problem. I beg of you. Don't give in to this sort of thing. It encourages this behavior. Let these morons dangle and suffer. Make them pay. I hope they charged this guy extra, but I doubt it. I would've tacked on a self-absorbed asshole tax, and it would've been steep.