An Open Letter To Someone, Anyone, Who Works At Park Cities Volkswagen
Dear Someone Who Has Access To A Phone At Park Cities Volkswagen, Dallas' No. 1 Volkswagen Dealer,
Pick up the phone. Call me. Reassure me that I am not currently on the receiving end of some of the worst customer service in the history of the planet. If you can't do it for me, do it for Alexander Graham Bell, who never wanted to see the apparatus he worked so diligently to invent ignored like this. We are now on Day 11 of "When's Volkswagen Gonna Call? Watch."
Because, see, it's not just one thing. It's not just the waiting by the phone. It's not just the broken promises. I'm used to all that. It's your utter silence, the way you've used me and tossed me to the curb with all the other cheap imports. And I won't take it, Park Cities Volkswagen. Hell hath no fury like a woman fahrvegnugened.
I believe you have my number, as I left it with you three times. The first time I left it with you was a couple of weeks ago. I had just returned from an oil change that was supposed to take one hour and 15 minutes, but which had taken three hours, without warning or explanation. I spoke about this issue with someone named Dennis, I believe. Didn't quite catch his whole name, but someone at Park Cities VW will probably recognize him as the guy making elaborate papier-mâché bowls out of embossed Volkswagen "You Have A Message!" notepads, because there's no evidence he knows what this advanced technology is actually for. Dennis said he would call me back to talk about refunding the Ninety Freaking Dollars I was charged for the pleasure of sitting around in the dealership for three hours.
But Dennis never came through. I did get a very apologetic call at 8 that night from the service dude who "went to lunch" and left me high and dry. Unfortunately, I was unable to transfigure his apology into Ninety Freaking Dollars, an amount I suspect Dallas' No. 1 Volkswagen Dealer! could swing if they really, really tried.
So I spoke with Dennis' Supervisor's answering machine. Dennis' Supervisor is so important he doesn't even have time to record his own voice mail, instead getting a hot-sounding secretary to do it for him. The woman could charge $3.95 per minute if she liked, which may be problematic because Volkswagen seems to be unfamiliar with the concept of time, how it passes and how it is important to some people. Dennis' Incredibly Important Supervisor never called back.
I gave them another call this morning, figuring maybe somebody was on vacation last week or dead or paralyzed from the brain down or finally getting around to that chapter they never finished during NaNoWriMo '89. Really I was willing to take any excuse for not being called back. But I got Dennis' Incredibly Important Boss' Incredibly Sexy Answerphone once again. While I am totally up for free love and hippie-dippie fun, I am not into having a relationship with a piece of communication machinery.
And so I plead with you, Dennis and Dennis' Incredibly Important Supervisor Whom I Truly Hope Is Not Deliberately Ignoring My Phone Calls But It's Sure Starting To Look That Way, somebody call me back. You play like you give a shit about customer service, and I'll play like you didn't waste three hours of my time.
Well, three hours and 15 minutes, including the snarky blog item. You don't have to refund me for that, though. It was my pleasure.
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