Keith looked at the phone. The red recording light was still on. He did not repeat it.
I told him I had been recording every conversation with his dealership since June, and I had a log of every call. Forty one of them. I told him my car had been at his dealership for two hundred and twelve days.
Then I told him I had already called the customer care line for the manufacturer on my way in, and they had opened a case.
The couple at the next desk stopped signing. The man put the pen down.
Eight months of being the customer who cannot be satisfied, and all I ever wanted was to drive the car I was still paying for.
Keith said there was no need for all that. He said he would have an answer by the end of the week.
I said I was sure he would.
The case manager from the manufacturer, a woman named Sandra, called me that afternoon. She had already pulled the service records. The dealership had ordered one part in February, never followed up when it was backordered, and then just stopped working on it. The car had not moved since spring.
Sandra explained something I did not know. Our state had a lemon law. When a new car under warranty is out of service for more than thirty days for the same problem, the owner may be entitled to a replacement or a refund. My car had been out of service for more than seven months.
She said the company would take it from there.
It took five weeks. The manufacturer bought the car back. They refunded every payment I had made, including the down payment, and paid off the rest of the loan. On top of that, they reimbursed the rental car I had been paying for out of pocket since March.
I bought a new car from a different dealership across town. The salesman there, an older man named Frank, heard my story and laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. Then he gave me free oil changes for life, and told me to call him directly if anything ever went wrong.
Nothing has gone wrong.
I heard later that the manufacturer did an audit of the service department at my old dealership. Keith was no longer the service manager by the end of the year.
The receptionist, the one who took all forty one of my calls, sent me a message in December. She said she had moved to a job at a different dealership, and that she was sorry she could never tell me the truth. She said she tried to leave the notes where somebody would find them.
I thanked her. I told her I knew she was on my side the whole time. You can hear it in a voice when somebody is, even on hold.
Every time I drive past that old lot, I look for dust on the cars in the back. There is always some.
Not on mine.