Ink & gouache in sketchbook (larger)
Well, so much for yesterday’s Pollyana attitude of gratitude. Now I’m mad!
After working half the day I headed out to do errands, including shopping for new car tires. After going to the library, the Toyota dealer and another tire shop, I ended up at Costco. Normally I’m a big fan of Costco as they have reliably high quality products at excellent prices, but it’s not a place I’d ever chose to eat dinner.
Unfortunately I was stuck there for over three hours waiting for my tires to be installed, only to learn that they’d made a mistake and the tires they’d sold me were the wrong tires that didn’t fit my car.
Click “continue reading” below to read the rest of my rant:
I’d tried to patiently pass the estimated two hour wait time, strolling through the store, picking up a few items I needed, including a rotisserie chicken to eat in their cafeteria (that only sells greasy hot dogs, fries and pizza). After standing in a long line to check out (behind a woman trying to buy a coat with no tag on it, requiring someone to go find the price while everyone stood in line rolling their eyes), I sat at a table way too close to two little boys who’d apparently been told to stay there while their parents shopped. They screamed and wrestled non-stop.I read an art book from the library while I picked chunks off the chicken and sipped my diet coke. Then I got out my sketch book and started drawing my unlovely dinner setting. I was halfway through the drawing, feeling pleased that the car should be ready any minute. Then I got the call about the tires being wrong.
I was so mad!!! I complained to a manager who offered a $40 discount and agreed to order the right tires and promised that when they arrived in a week I’d be given priority installation. I thought I could go home then, but no! I had to take my receipt back into the main store and stand in the Returns line to get refunded for the wrong tires.
Then it turned out the mechanic had already removed all my tires and would have to reinstall them, balancing each one before I could take the car. He tried to patch my flat but it couldn’t be repaired so he had to move the spare back on a wheel too. Another hour later and I was finally on my way home, having lost my whole afternoon and evening with nothing at all to show for it, knowing I’d have to make another trip to the tire shop in a week,and that I had no working spare tire. Grrrr!
I’m trying to find things to be grateful for to get over being mad:
- I don’t work in a stinky noisy tire shop
- I’m safe and sound and in good health and in my cozy house listening to good music
- I have a car
I’m still mad.