Stealth Mode
I've happily discovered that there's a Kia dealership within about 3 miles of work, and offers shuttle service, so suddenly dropping off the car for repairs or look-sees is twelve times less the hassle than trying to get it in to my Seattle-side dealership, harassing Bill and Cress for a ride to work in the morning, and meeting them at the Park n' Ride for pickup.
(The entire process is hilarious and enjoyable, but I certainly don't expect them to leave early and take time out of their day for me every time something happens with my car. Which, if you know me, seems to happen A LOT....Foxy.)
I recently took K-k-k-k-ken the K-k-k-kia in for a transmission fluid change; I'm attempting to do my 30K tuneup in pieces, since I can't quite do the whole thing at once AND I'm going to need some rear brakes here pretty soon. About a week after the automotive apheresis, Ken started stalling out at random points in traffic. See Teresa freak out. See Teresa schedule to take the car in, and be told that if it's due to rats or mice chewing through battery cables, it won't be covered under warranty. See Teresa understand but still snort because of course she didn't specially IMPORT rodents into her front compartment for just such an occasion. See Teresa cheer because it turned out a battery cable was loose, easily fixed AND covered. See Teresa be a little chagrined that she doesn't know how to check those things herself, and mentally noting to take a car maintenance class at some point.
So. Another two weeks after the battery debacle, I take a glorious sunny October Saturday and go for a run at Green Lake. (Substitute any weather and calendar listing for the underlined parts above, and you pretty much have my M.O. at any given moment.) I had to park a few blocks away, being that everyone and their dog (no, really) does the same thing when the sun comes out, and hiked my way back to patiently waiting Ken. As I came up on him, I suddenly realized that something looked different, and I stood there, peering about, for probably five minutes before I figured it out.
The dealership had changed out both my front and rear license-plate frames.
I hadn't really paid much attention, having left the frames on that advertised the dealership from which I bought Ken in the first place. Which, incidentally, was a Chevy dealership, and because I had to argue for about a month with them to get the remote alarm fob after buying the car, I had already considered removing it on my own. I would've been happy to take the new place's frames, because they've been really good to me and I'd rather give them the business.
But I was still a bit...taken aback...at the sheer moxie it took to do it without telling me. All's fair in love, war, and business, eh?
I recently took K-k-k-k-ken the K-k-k-kia in for a transmission fluid change; I'm attempting to do my 30K tuneup in pieces, since I can't quite do the whole thing at once AND I'm going to need some rear brakes here pretty soon. About a week after the automotive apheresis, Ken started stalling out at random points in traffic. See Teresa freak out. See Teresa schedule to take the car in, and be told that if it's due to rats or mice chewing through battery cables, it won't be covered under warranty. See Teresa understand but still snort because of course she didn't specially IMPORT rodents into her front compartment for just such an occasion. See Teresa cheer because it turned out a battery cable was loose, easily fixed AND covered. See Teresa be a little chagrined that she doesn't know how to check those things herself, and mentally noting to take a car maintenance class at some point.
So. Another two weeks after the battery debacle, I take a glorious sunny October Saturday and go for a run at Green Lake. (Substitute any weather and calendar listing for the underlined parts above, and you pretty much have my M.O. at any given moment.) I had to park a few blocks away, being that everyone and their dog (no, really) does the same thing when the sun comes out, and hiked my way back to patiently waiting Ken. As I came up on him, I suddenly realized that something looked different, and I stood there, peering about, for probably five minutes before I figured it out.
The dealership had changed out both my front and rear license-plate frames.
I hadn't really paid much attention, having left the frames on that advertised the dealership from which I bought Ken in the first place. Which, incidentally, was a Chevy dealership, and because I had to argue for about a month with them to get the remote alarm fob after buying the car, I had already considered removing it on my own. I would've been happy to take the new place's frames, because they've been really good to me and I'd rather give them the business.
But I was still a bit...taken aback...at the sheer moxie it took to do it without telling me. All's fair in love, war, and business, eh?
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