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Registered User
Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: Marblehead, MA
Posts: 27
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A-hole of the year award, 2003
This is my first post here , but to dispense with false modesty, I've long since qualified to stand among the top echelon grumpy old pharts on this or just about any forum you care to name...
We have about three weeks or so left before 1/1/04, but I recently encountered such a great candidate for A-hole of the year, 2003, that I feel this guy deserves immediate recognition.
Of course, it all began with my car. These things often do. The scenario: I recently decided to purchase my car when its lease was up, so of course I had to go through the usual nightmarish series of hoops necessary to re-register it. I'll spare you the familiar complaints about dealing with the insurance companies and the registry, except to say that it was every bit as enjoyable as you'd expect it to be. (You out-of-staters, keep in mind that I live in Massachusetts. I don't care where you're from, this is worse.)
When I'd finally completed what I thought was the final step this oh-so-fulfilling process, on my way out of the registry I was reminded that I had to have my car re-inspected within the next few days. No matter that I'd had it inspected within the past three weeks...that took place when it was the leasing company's property. Now it was mine, and I needed a new sticker. Well, why not? Who knows, maybe becoming mine had made some fundamental difference in the car's very essence...after all, look what that had done to my ex-wife. Anyway, okay, I had to get another inspection sticker. Hey, why not? Made as much sense as some of the other stuff I'd had to do.
So I set out to find an inspection station. And, man, did I ever find a doozie. I was far from home, so I pretty much chose one at random. Yeh, right. The gods must've been pissing themselves laughing when they saw where I went.
I pulled in, and a sign directed me to park my vehicle between two pylons and honk my horn. I did so, and a guy came out, looking decidedly unhappy. When I told him I needed a sticker, he didn't look thrilled, just muttered that he wanted me to leave the keys in it and go wait in the front, he'd drive it inside himself.
I'd only gone a few steps when I heard my engine rev, hard, and I turned to see the car jerking forward repeatedly. I yelled, "Hey, I think I left the handbrake on!" (This puzzled me a bit, because I almost never use the handbrake.)
The guy gave me a look of resentment and disgust, and said, very angrily, no, that he was testing my handbrake. He seemed upset that I hadn't understood this. Gee, I thought he was gonna do the inspection inside, not out here. I apologized, wondering whether he wasn't overdue for a vacation, or something. I was totally puzzled by his over-reaction, but figured, well, he might be having a bad day...anyway, not wanting to waste time on somebody else's bad vibes, I headed for the waiting room around front.
Ten minutes later, the guy drove my car out of the garage, with a big old rejection sticker on it. I was surprised, because it's a pretty late model, and in excellent shape. I asked what was wrong, and he informed me, with a hard bad-ass stare, that my handbrake had failed the safety test...and that it was illegal for me to drive the car out of there.
I couldn't believe this. For one thing, as I've said, I rarely, if ever, use the handbrake. And I'd never had any trouble with a handbrake before. I asked what was wrong with it, and he told me that he didn't know and he had other customers to wait on.
I was beginning to get it...a-hole's revenge on a guy who he thought had somehow, some way wised off to him. Although I couldn't understand how I'd offended the bastard, I wanted to defuse this obviously hostile situation and fix the problem.
I asked the guy, as nicely as I could, if he could check out the handbrake and fix whatever was wrong with it. Nope, said the a-hole, obviously enjoying himself, too much to do today. I said okay, I'll have it fixed nearby and bring it back, because I need that sticker. He stared at me like a threat-displaying baboon, and repeated that it was illegal for me to drive it. I figured that if I said anything else, anything at all, he'd call the cops after I left and have them impound the car. The hell of it was, he had my plate numbers and all thatin his computer now. So I shut my mouth and left.
Fortunately, no cop stopped me and I drove about two exits up the highway to a Midas Muffler place where I'd recently had my brakes serviced. They examined my handbrake and told me what I already knew...that there was nothing wrong with it. They'd made a very slight adjustment to the brake, one for which they didn't even charge me.
So, I drove back to the a-hole's service station, because after all, he had my $29 already and I wanted my sticker. I approached the a-hole, and as neutrally and politely as possible, I explained that the technicians who'd just checked my handbrake had found nothing wrong with it, but adjusted it slightly anyhow, just to make sure.
The a-hole responded by getting into my car, pulling the handbrake about 2/3 of the way up, dropping the automatic shift into the lowest gear, and tromping the gas repeatedly, hard, to make the car surge forward. When I pointed out, trying hard to keep the disgust out of my voice, that the brake wasn't fully engaged, he gave me his best Eastwood glare and said, "That's as far as I pull it up. That's the test. You failed." He then stalked back into the garage, nastier'n dried cat s--t.
I considered my options, and decided that $29 just wasn't worth the aggravation. This was definitely not your $29 a-hole. Specimens like this are in the very least valued in the hundreds of dollars...that is to say, you only endure the misery of dealing with them if far more than $29 is at stake.
An hour later, at a gas station run by a guy of normal temperment, and who, just like the people at Midas, could find nothing whatsoever wrong with my handbrake, I traded an additional $29 for an inspection sticker to replace the rejection sticker that had been the a-hole's gift to me. When I told this guy my tale of woe, he said he recalled others having similar run-ins with this same a-hole.
The hero of our tale, who for no reason discernable to anyone this side of a psycho ward decided to brighten up my day, is in my opinion, second only to my ex-wife's lawyer in contention for a-hole of the year, 2003.
And, as you're probably aware, since lawyers are not allowed to compete for this honor (because they so effortlessly outdistance all other contenders), I say it's time to close the voting right now, although it's not quite the end of the year, and give this a-hole the award he so richly deserves.
Last edited by davess23; 12-07-2003 at 08:50 PM..
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johnny "the Ratt Boy"
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