I hate car dealerships. More specifically, I hate Oxmoor Ford in Louisville, KY. Actually, I just hate being the little guy going up against a big company.
My brand new car has a tire that developed a large knot on it. The knot looked like the goiter on the neck of an old person or the pimple that grew on my forehead 20 minutes before my high school sophomore yearbook picture.
This tire knot is due to a tire manufacturer defect. The dealer disagreed. They spent an hour and a half combing over my car for any signs of impact. They found a scratch on a plastic piece of my wheel well, thus concluding that the car struck something and they would not replace the tire.
I decided to talk to the sales team at the dealer. Surely, they understand how a minor issue like this could cost them a lot of money in future sales.
The salesman was named “Boots.” Dora the Explorer’s monkey should be offended at having to share a name with this guy. He looked like he watched the Blue Collar Comedy Tour video with the only takeaway being Ron White’s wardrobe and style.
He told me that I was trying to deceive the company. I informed him that I had not run over anything other than asphalt.
He takes this opportunity to tell me that my wife must have done it. Then he starts making jokes like: “She must think she is driving a Hummer,” or my favorite “You might want to repair your relationship because your wife is afraid to tell you she hit something.”
Big O tires did agree with me and made sure to state on my receipt that a manufacturer defect caused the problem. This ended up costing me $150, which is no big deal in the grand scheme of life. I just really do not like the way my Ford dealer treated me. As a Christian, I am not allowed to believe in karma, but that doesn’t make karma any less canis-femalius.