I took my car to the shop last week and the guy treated me like I was a helpless female who couldn’t find my lug nut key with a map, and proceeded to announce to the entire establishment that of course I wouldn’t know where it is.
I’m not. I can. And seriously?
Since I’m a lot braver in my own mind than I am in real life, here is how I wish I had responded (with a nod to Amy Sherman-Palladino and Lorelai Gilmore):
Excuse me, Sir, but I went to college and my degree did not come out of a Cracker Jack box.
My dad, who personally recommended you and this establishment to me, insisted that before I learn how to drive, I learn how a car works. Thanks to him, I know how to check my own oil, jumpstart my car, change a tire and pump my own gas, even if I do live in a state where pumping my own gas is illegal.
The only reason I don’t change my own tire is because I’m not convinced the car won’t fall on my head, and since you are far cheaper than a neurosurgeon, I’m here so that you can remove the bolt from my tire. Yes, the bolt that is not causing my tire to lose air pressure but is making a thumping sound—and no, I won’t imitate the noise for you.
As for the location of the lug nut key, I don’t actually know where it is right at this very moment. And do you want to know why? Because the last time it was used was by your own service people, who gave me four brand new tires only six weeks ago. So perhaps you should ask them, rather than me.
Now, do you think you can manage this on your own, or do you need my assistance?