youngraven: Ah, I've had better days, me. (Drownt rat)
It actually started in 2009. Since this one garage had done so very well in sorting out rather an irksome woe, I felt confident in trusting the people there with my car. 

Well. Fools bloody rush in, dunnit. 

The battery cable thingummy went well. The back brakes went well. But when my clutch wanted replacing? They bloody banjaxed it - and by that, I mean to the point that a piece of the linkage fell out and bounced away whilst I was driving down the 75 towards the city (there's a 75 in Atlanta as well). What followed was a great lot of hire cars and strife that culminated in an angry letter and the car being towed to the Sandy Springs Subaru. Oh, and this was in the midst of the Christmas as well. Bucking. Frilliant. 

Fast forwards one year's time. My car has been squeaking. It's actually been squeaking since Atlanta, but I'd convinced myself it was a belt wearing out, and had taken the decision to squeeze every last bit of life out of it. (I understand this isn't wise, so.)

Lately, a bit of undercarriage trim had rearranged itself such that it made a ghastly sound whenever I rounded a corner. Since my dad's no slouch when it comes to the finer workings of things with combustion engines, I asked him to lash up that trim to something. Since we'd already got the car up onto the ramps, he had a listen to it with a Car Stethoscope, and determined that the squeak originated in the clutch. Apparently, the throw out bearing is bodgered.

SO YAY, LIKE. Four times in the fucking garage, and the bleeding clutch is still effed up. I mean, the hell sez I - should I have resorted to voodoo? Would that have done the trick? Janey bloody mercy. 

As I mentioned, I've already done the bit with the Better Business Bureau, and they've made 'good' by me as best they'd do. Grr. So, we'll be making a hike up to a Subaru dealer in the back of beyond (alright, McKinney), 'cos that's where our local, trusted rep ended up.   


Aaaaand...that piece of trim? In his opinion, it looks as though somebody left a few pieces off when it was replaced after all of last year's work had been done. So hurrah fucking that. Poxy rat bastards. Never again in my life will I go to Pep Boys. /spits

I'm fairly decided that my next conveyance will be a donkey with a cart. 
youngraven: Ah, I've had better days, me. (Drownt rat)
Here's how my day's gone thus far: 
  • Was 'late' to a training session 'cos my laptop spent forty years updating some eejity java app that I didn't even know I had
  • Managed to jam an ethernet cable into its little port thingummy - how, I could not say
  • Destroyed (very likely) said port by wiggling, coaxing, and (at the very dyin' end) enlisting a colleague's aid in yanking it out
  • Spilt pieces of powdered make up over my trousers such that they now look spotted
Grr. Sigh. Whinge. Moan.

Meh.
youngraven: (in flames)
So.

Here are the lessons I've learnt thus far:

Before you ring the fellows in IT to wail at them about how your work laptop is at odds with your wireless network at home, check that your bloody wireless card is actually switched on Yeh. Clever thing about a Toshiba, it's got a switch. Guess which position mine was in? Go on, do. :|

Never underestimate your own ability to transform a cup of tea into a brown, sodden nightmare. Bid a fond farewell to the thumbnail sketches and hastily scribbled telephone numbers in the wave's path, 'cos there's no amount of 'it'll dry' that will actually save them.

Oh well, at least my desk isn't sticky.

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