...So VW thinks they can fuck around with me.
I made the enormous mistake of buying a VW Beetle last year. A used one, since I can't be bothered to buy a car that is only going to reduce 40% in value the second rubber touches the motorway. I bought said cute chicky car (confess one attraction in buying the car was that partner unit would never want to borrow it, hence my seat and radio preferences would remain intact) in November last year, and I have only had problems with it ever since.
First, one month after buying the car, it would suddenly randomly beep at me. Out of nowhere. It had no connection to any mechanical lights, that the car was too cold, I was under a mustard gas attack, or that I had accidentally left my hair dryer plugged in. It would just beep. And then the light on the dashboard of the man with an airbag exploding in his face went off (poor unfortunate LED), along with the brake light. A visit to the VW dealer only resulted in making me feel like I wasted their time, however at least the problem went away.
The end of January, I took the car back. This time, the trunk and gas lock wouldn't close. Or they would close, only to spring open again, suddenly in the middle of me driving too fast down the motorway at top speeds, or when I was headed to the airport. Let me tell you, it is not much fun to endure a Swedish winter with the trunk popping open and exposing imporant bits of mine to the chilly air. This, along with the brake light coming on again. I took it back to the dealer.
Unbelievably, they told me it was simply too cold out. That's right, folks. Apparently, VW is of the opinion that their cars don't need to work if it is below freezing outside. So only buy a VW if driving through the Sahara (after all, the air-cooled engines revolutionized the war. For a period.)
February, I had new problems. The brake light kept going off, combined with me occasionally being locked in the car. That's correct. LOCKED IN THE CAR. I would have to sit in the car until some arbitrary period had passed, in which the car decided to free me and open the locks on the doors. I went back to the dealer. The work that was done: they replaced the lightbulb in the brake light LED in the dashboard. That's all they did. It took them a whole week to do this, too. So I was still subject to being held hostage by a rabid German car whenever the whim struck.
Monday this week, it all went horribly wrong. I was stuck in a traffic jam for 50 minutes. 40 of those minutes were spent with the brake light on and the car beeping at me with a high pitched beep in regular intervals of three times every two minutes. I couldn't turn around, I couldn't pull over, I was simply stuck in traffic. So it should come as no surprise that when I got home I was in a rage not seen since...oh, maybe a week ago (I tend to be a very angry person). I got out of the car, screaming, throwing the manual at the car. My partner unit just calmly observed me from the yard. It went something like this:
Me :I HATE THIS FUCKING CAR! I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT! (and remember, I am a loud person. Very loud. Big lungs.)
Him: Honey, what's wrong?
Me: I HAVE BEEN STUCK IN A TRAFFIC JAM FOR FIFTY FUCKING MINUTES, FORTY OF WHICH THE FUCKING THING HAS BEEN BEEPING AT ME!
Him: Honey, what's wrong?
Me : I HAVE NO IDEA. I AM NOT A MECHANIC, I ONLY PLAY ONE ON TV (OK, I added that one. Humor was not on my side then.)
Him: Are you OK?
Me: I HATE THIS FUCKING CAR! I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT! (I am very loud and very repetitive, actually).
He got up, walked into the garage, and got me a crowbar. This I used to bash an old doghouse to bits. Then he went back to the garage, got an axe, took my crowbar away, and let me beat the rest of the doghouse to kindling. I confess, it made me feel better.
Once the car and I had cooled down, I checked the brake fluid, and saw that it was empty. And VW designed the car in such a way that only a Rhesus monkey with a funnel attached to the end of tis tail could reach said fluid container. But I would not acquiesce to the VW Bastards. I rigged up a lawn-mower hose and a funnel, and fed the thing brake fluid myself. It worked. I was victorious. I had gotten one over on those self-serving uber-idiots at the VW shop.
Until Wednesday, when the problem returned. The brake fluid tank was totally empty. I had to admit defeat. I drove to VW in a rage and proceeded to give them masses of grief. When done, I looked up and saw my neighbor there. Apparently she is having VW problems of her own.
"I knew you would be here." she said calmly.
"Really?" I replied, surprised. "Do you work for Dionne Warwick?"
"No," she replied. "I heard the screaming on Monday night 'I HATE THIS FUCKING CAR'!
Boy did I feel stupid.
Car is (sort of) fixed now, and an appointment made on Monday to discuss swapping the car with the manager of the dealership. It turns out my brake line had been disconnected. Now I have Oliver Stone worthy paranoid fears running through my head, perhaps someone wants to kill me. I do have ample enemies, this would not surprise me.
But let this be a lesson-don't buy VW.
And if you do, prepare yourself and repeat after me: "I HATE THIS FUCKING CAR!"
-H.
Posted by Everydaystranger at August 22, 2003 09:37 AM | TrackBack