Conversations with My Wife (139)
“Little lady, what will it take to put YOU in this fine automobile?”
I drive a 2012 Honda Fit; my wife drives a 2003 Pontiac Vibe, purchased used from a used car dealer. Both vehicles, like so many others, were affected by the Takata airbag recall. For the Honda, no big deal — we got a letter in the mail, made an appointment with the dealer, got the airbag replaced at no charge.
And then, there was the way General Motors dealt with an orphaned model.
ME: Hey, we finally got a postcard from Pontiac! Well, GM, whatever. About your airbag.
DEB: So when should we bring it in?
ME: (reading) Not yet. This is a heads-up that they plan to replace your airbag. Demand is heavy. Please stand by.
Time passes.
ME: Hey, another postcard from GM! This time they really, truly want you to bring in your Vibe as soon as possible, so you won’t die.
We schedule an appointment with the appropriate GM dealer, get the airbag replaced. Yippee! My wife can now ride safe and secure.
Or not.
ME: Um, we have another postcard about the Vibe’s airbags. Apparently they just put in a papier-mâché model the dealer’s kids whipped together, or something. Now they want to install the REAL replacement. We can schedule for any time.
We forget. A few weeks later…
ME: It’s another postcard from GM. They really, really want us to get your airbag replaced. Really. We’re basically on borrowed time.
A few weeks after that…
ME: This time it’s a letter about the airbag. “So dude! OMG! You made it home alive to read this letter! You should get your car in like NOW to replace your airbag! NOW! NOW, DAMMIT NOW!!”
Deb, touched by their sincerity, calls to make an appointment. The conversation at the other end of the phone apparently went something like:
SERVICE PERSON: You want what, ma’am? Airbags? Like, for a car? Hold on. (voices in the background) Hey, Harry, we got any airbags? Like, replacements? I dunno what kind of car, does it matter? Okay, I’ll tell her. (back on the phone) Ma’am? Yeah, sorry, we’re going to have to order those. We’ll let you know when they’re in.
Time passes. The dealership calls.We take in the Vibe. We leave the Vibe. Later, we pick up the Vibe. Nobody dies. That’s our story and we have alibis.
And then another month later, we come home to a voice message:
ANSWERING MACHINE: Hi, Mrs. Herlocker? This is your friendly neighborhood GM dealer, calling to remind you that your airbags will just as soon kill you as save you, so you’d better get your beloved GM vehicle into our shop—preferably by tow truck, because seriously, those things may as well be terrorist IEDs—and we’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Have a nice day, and thank you for buying GM!
We’ll wait for another call/card/letter/singing telegram, and worry about it then.
Copyright ©2019 by Jack Herlocker. All rights reserved, including the right to take the bus, because seriously, do these Uber people drive GM vehicles?
