avevale_intelligencer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2011-09-02 03:26 pm
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2011-09-02 03:26 pm
Part twee...
Returning an hour later, the Kwik-Fit person told me that the reason the light had come on was that the brake fluid was low, and the reason the brake fluid was low was that all four discs were worn below the minimum specification for roadworthiness. "You wouldn't see it unless you took it apart and did the measurements," he said. "They've all got to be replaced," he added. "That'll come to £££," he said. I may have missed the next few minutes.
(So, just to recap, we had driven nearly two hundred miles on a fool's errand and now we had a huge mechanic's bill on top. Yes, it would have happened anyway, but--well. You get the idea.)
"Can you get it done today?" I said.
"Yes," he said, "we can get the parts today."
"No," he added, "we can't get them till ten o'clock tomorrow."
"Wait a minute," he continued, "yes, we can get them today."
"Sorry, no," he pursued his theme, "it'll be ten tomorrow. Bring it back then and we'll have it done in two hours."
By now the emotional whiplash was getting boring, so I drove home in pensive mood, the furrowed lines of my brow limned by the constantly flashing red light, or they would have been if it hadn't been daylight, and we spent a merry afternoon and evening listening to the DC explain how she couldn't hear any better with the hearing aid, didn't really need one anyway, didn't like hearing herself chew, and so on. The phone rang. She held the receiver to her ear. "I can't hear it," she said.
"Hold the receiver a little higher," we chorused.
"Oh," she said, listening to the mouthpiece.
I went and got fish and chips, we ate them, and came away to Maureen's at about half eleven. I had foolishly imagined that the DC would go to bed at her usual nine or ten and we'd have a little time to unwind, but no such luck. And, on the Wednesday, back I went to Wisbech...
(So, just to recap, we had driven nearly two hundred miles on a fool's errand and now we had a huge mechanic's bill on top. Yes, it would have happened anyway, but--well. You get the idea.)
"Can you get it done today?" I said.
"Yes," he said, "we can get the parts today."
"No," he added, "we can't get them till ten o'clock tomorrow."
"Wait a minute," he continued, "yes, we can get them today."
"Sorry, no," he pursued his theme, "it'll be ten tomorrow. Bring it back then and we'll have it done in two hours."
By now the emotional whiplash was getting boring, so I drove home in pensive mood, the furrowed lines of my brow limned by the constantly flashing red light, or they would have been if it hadn't been daylight, and we spent a merry afternoon and evening listening to the DC explain how she couldn't hear any better with the hearing aid, didn't really need one anyway, didn't like hearing herself chew, and so on. The phone rang. She held the receiver to her ear. "I can't hear it," she said.
"Hold the receiver a little higher," we chorused.
"Oh," she said, listening to the mouthpiece.
I went and got fish and chips, we ate them, and came away to Maureen's at about half eleven. I had foolishly imagined that the DC would go to bed at her usual nine or ten and we'd have a little time to unwind, but no such luck. And, on the Wednesday, back I went to Wisbech...