Seventh Level of Discount Tire

So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I had some car trouble this past week. One of these problems was a FUBAR'ed tire on my CRX - I took it in for an oil change last week (yeah, I'm as D.I.Y. as the next guy, but I ain't crawling around in the parking lot when it's 20 degrees out) and the mechanic pointed out that one of my tires had a bulge in the sidewall. This happened to me before less than a year ago, when I hit a particularly nasty pothole:



I filed a claim with ODOT to try to get some of the expense reimbursed - of course they declined, and charged me $75 in "filing fees" for the privilege. So, it was off to the tire store - luckily, I purchased the "road hazard warranty" last time so it shouldn't cost me much...

The tire shop was populated by an interesting group of people. The important thing to remember is, I hate people. It's nothing personal. I'm just genuinely a misanthrope. As such, I usually expect the worst out of humanity, and I am rarely disappointed. Here's the cast of characters I was presented with during my nearly-two-hour wait:

The store manager: Pretty innocuous guy, the only annoying part was that he moved with the speed of molasses and talked with a twangy southern drawl. The accent wouldn't be all that unusual, except we're in Ohio and he was Asian.

Customer #1 was the man directly in front of me at the counter. The manager explained to him what they were going to do with his car, but I guess he didn't understand, because they had to explain it several more times, in great detail. He then proceeded to point to random tires on display throughout the showroom, asking "How much would those be for a 2001 Ford 150?" "Is that mounted & balanced?" "How much would those be for a 1997 Chevy Beretta?" "Is that mounted and balanced?" Apparently he was pricing tires for his entire family, while I was clearly waiting to be helped. Before leaving, he had to give the entire staff a rundown of things NOT to do to his vehicle: "Don't roll down the drivers' side window, it'll hop off the track and break." Don't touch the cigarette lighter, it'll blow the fuses." "Don't turn they key all the way off, or the steering column will get stuck." Something tells me the tires were the least of the safety problems with his car.

Customer #2 was a young (20-ish) girl who looked like she bought all her clothes at the Paris Hilton factory outlet (fake fur coat, neon stretch pants, etc). She had a small yappy dachshund sitting on her lap while she talked on her cell phone. She was one of those people who talk on their cell phones in public and have ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE THAT THEY ARE SHOUTING THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION. Thankfully she left pretty quickly.

Customers #3 & #4 were a couple who must have decided that Discount Tire was the ideal place to work out some serious relationship issues. They were basically having a heated argument, while whispering the entire time. They would occasionally pause to shoot me dirty looks from across the waiting room, as if I had just barged into their marriage counselor's office with a six-month-old copy of Road & Track and plopped down on the sofa next to them.

Customers #4 & #5 were a mother-son team straight out of Dogpatch. The mother would wander around and offer helpful observations about the weather and pick through the magazines, and every five minutes the son would make the same joke at the top of his lungs: "HEY, MA! THEY NEED YOU TO GIT OUT THAR AND HELP CARRY SUM O' THEM T'ARS! HAW HAW HAW!"

Customers #5 & #6 were two teenage ghetto-wannabe white kids who drove up in some little shitbox held together with bubble gum and coat hangers. They asked to see the custom wheels catalog, and proceeded to sit down RIGHT NEXT TO ME even though there were a dozen empty seats throughout the room. (This is a pet peeve I am particularly annoyed by. Respect personal space, people).The driver proceeded to tell his friend every five minutes that as soon as he saved the money he would be "rollin' on dubs, yo". It took every ounce of self control I had to keep from knocking their skulls together, Three-Stooges style.

Customer #7 was a large black man whose cell phone rang as soon as he walked in the door. He proceeded to answer it and talked very loudly for several minutes in an African language I didn't recognize (it was actually kind of pretty sounding, sort of a singsong quality to it). He then hung up, glared at everyone in the showroom for ten seconds, and left in a rush.

Customer #8 was a mother who came in, dropped her two 9 or 10-year-old children off in the waiting area, then immediately disappeared somewhere. The kids were actually pretty well behaved, but the little girl was working on some schoolwork and kept asking her brother for help: "Do you spell "then" T-H-N-E?" The brother would reply, "No, dummy, it's T-H-E-E-N". This scenario was repeated multiple times, with the brother always giving a completely wrong answer. The little girl will no doubt be in the "special" class at school this time next week thanks to her genius brother.

Needless to say, after an hour-and-a-half of this I was ready to shove the air compressor line up my nose to try and force a brain embolism. Luckily, employee #2 came out and, after trying to sell me everything under the sun (apparently every part on my car is incorrect and horribly, horribly dangerous) charged me $14, and I was on my way. I'll be sure to do that again real soon...