The Very Expensive Dealership

You think I'm done whining about my Very Expensive Car problems?  Think again, Kemosabe.  Actually, it's not that expensive of a car - a Porsche or a Range Rover or a Ferrari is an expensive car.  My car falls in the category of Not That Expensive Until Something Needs to Be Fixed.  THEN it's expensive.

Anyway, we drove into the nearest town and found The Very Expensive Car Dealership.  You can tell you're going to be treated poorly and overcharged when the waiting area has Starbucks coffee, a big flatscreen TV, and some hipster furniture.  The mechanics - who charge about as much as a good neurosurgeon - do the same kinds of things as the mechanics at Bob's Car Repair, just without the good coffee and comfy seats.

This being Sunday there was no one in the showroom except for a lot of sales people standing around.   They were not helpful.  They weren't aggressively antagonistic - they didn't taunt me or do a little touchdown dance or break into a home run trot -- but they were definitely not helpful, either.  No one offered to look at my damaged run-flat tire, suggest a hotel in the area, or do anything beyond a general milling about.  They directed me to the sales manager, comfortably ensconced behind her desk.  I gave it a whirl.

"Can you set me up with an appointment first thing in the morning?" I asked, in a reasonable tone.
"The sales department and the service department use totally different computer systems," she said.
"That sounds stupid," I replied.  "Any way I can get a loaner car?"  
"We don't have access to loaner cars," she said.
"There's no way I could get a car to get to a hotel and back in the morning?"  I persisted.
"We . . . don't . . . have access to ANY cars," she said.
"I'm not sure the tire is in good enough shape to get to the hotel," I said.  "Could one of the salespeople take a look at it?"
"No," she said.  "They're just salespeople."  
"And we have the dumb ones today," she added.

I wasn't trying to be a dick.  I was a guy from out of town with no place to stay and no car to get there, talking to someone who sold and fixed cars like mine and who lived in the town in which I was stranded.  I was trying to give her an opportunity - any opportunity - to be of service, or to do her fucking job, neither of which she was doing.

She finally did something helpful.  She called a tire company nearby.  Martin.  She spoke to Martin.  That tire cost me $275.  She told me to go somewhere else and get it fixed.  I was a customer in her showroom and she got rid of me, without ever even getting up from her very expensive office chair.

Should I send a note to the general manager of that store?  I bet he wouldn't be pleased to hear about this incident.

I'm mulling it over.