Once upon an eerie afternoon I was told to take our car to the local garage for a transmission estimate. It seemed to be slipping. We were frighteningly low in our checking account with no extra money anywhere, plus I was expecting a baby. Out came the vampire mechanic who talked to me and had me sign (in blood, if I remember correctly) the contract. I made known my request for an estimate.
After a window-shopping extravaganza, I returned for our car. Out came the vampire mechanic who scared me with a bill over $300. In order to get possession of my car, I had to pay the total bill with our only credit card. I proceeded to float home, but the vehicle did anything but float. It jumped, spit, snarled, stalled and did a multitude of tricks that I didn't appreciate. What a frightful situation!
I was afraid to tell my husband, who turned a ghostly white, when I explained to him what had happened. I called my dad, our sage. He told me to call the credit card company. And guess what? I did. They refused the payment to the garage. You probably can guess at the haunting I received from that garage. They called me, morning, noon and night asking for a chance to re-repair our vehicle. There was no way that I would give them permission to rectify the awful nightmare.
Finally, I went to another garage, explained what had happened and asked them what they could do to repair the vehicle. Oh, how polite and quickly our car was running as smooth as a black cat slithering down the street. By the way, the repairs cost much less and fixed the problem.
-- Lola, Riverview, Fla.