Back at the car dealership this morning (take two!) to get the busted compartment under the radio fixed. The better news? It’s not covered by the warranty. Of course!
On the plus side, it appears they have free pastries here. Hmmm. Will a bagel really take away the punch to my pocketbook? No. But it’s nice nonetheless.
When they told me I WAS paying for it, I almost balked and just left. It’s the Dessen in me. My parents, as a rule, care NOTHING about the cosmetic quality of their cars. Dents, scratches, huge dings, it just doesn’t matter. As long as it runs, they’ll drive it. This is a marked difference from my husband’s point of view: he takes pride in his vehicle, cleans and washes it regularly, keeps it looking nice as a rule. A year after I got my Accord—which was my first new car, the only one I’d ever had that came to me without scratches or dents already in it—this guy backed into me at the grocery store. He totally claimed responsibility (very nice of him, I thought) but when I called my insurance company, they said that since we were both backing up at the time, it was double fault and my insurance wouldn’t cover it. So, I had a choice. Pay to fix my busted, scratched bumper or…not. My instinct was to not. I mean, it was just a scratch. Okay, a big scratch. And a dent, which looked kind of like a wound. And I’d already had it a year, anyway.
When I told my husband this, though, he went ballistic. “You can’t drive around like that!” he said. I pointed out that, on a regular basis, I’ll be at my mom’s and notice a dent or ding on her car and point it out to her. “Where’d you get this?” I’ll ask her. Often she doesn’t know. Or hasn’t even NOTICED it. As long as the engine still cranks, she’s good. And my engine was just fine. “Honey,” my husband said, “that’s just not normal, though.” Okay, so maybe it shouldn’t shock me to hear my family is a little quirky. In fact, I kind of take pride in it. But whatever. In the interest of compromise, and my marriage, I got the bumper fixed. It looks nice. But still.
This is all a long way of saying that, yes, I’m getting my compartment door fixed, even though it’s WAY too expensive to do so, in my opinion. I’ll do it in the interest of compromise, as well as the spirit of marriage (which is sort of the same thing, I guess). But every time I do see someone driving around a banged up Honda, I feel a certain amount of solidarity with them, a kind of genetic simpatico. Which is to say, I get it. I just do.
Okay. I’m going to check out those bagels. Might have a take a few. You know, get my money’s worth….
update: It IS covered by warranty. YAY! Now I feel bad about eating those bagels. Oh, well….