People are flipping out. I feel a bit like a balloon with a tiny hole; all the tension that�s been residing in my neck and shoulders and head is all trying to pour out of a wee little hole all at once, and I can�t stop laughing, though it hurts.

So I picked up the car again today. I was armed with an extensive knowledge of the IL Automotive Repair Act and of what I saw as violations of required disclosure. I had a consumer complaint form on hand, just in case. But I was determined to be polite, until the situation warranted anything else. I decided I would inquire what I could�ve done differently, what would�ve ensured that the offending part was repaired the first time. Or at least the second or third. I would ask at what point diagnostic equipment is (and was) used to diagnose problems, and so forth, until I�d made the point that this repair had been bungled, and I felt I�d been forced to pay for unapproved and unnecessary repairs.

Right.

But bugger if it wasn�t just Mechanic Dan, the kind soul who was so nice when I broke down crying in there on Monday, not the unfortunately-named kid with whom I have to converse most of the time. Poor guy was upset, and seeing how I�d cried to him the other day, he confided that the owner�s on vacation and after two weeks of insanity, he�s in a bad place. So of course I listened sympathetically. And then I guess the part that came in for my car this morning was defective, so he ended up having to get a new part, not rebuilt, and since he was too scared to call and give me any other price, I essentially paid only the cost of the new master cylinder and no labor. And just as I was trying to launch into my how-could-this-have-been-fixed-three-months-ago spiel, several customers came in, so I forged my mom�s name on the credit card slip and made my stumbling exit.

Man, my beef isn�t with Dan, because he�s nice and has sad brown eyes and looks a bit defeated. I�m in no position to deflate him.

Oddly, this is the only way I think I can feel okay about paying a massive amount of money for this dumb repair. You know? So long as I�m not alone in my feelings of utter defeat.

So there we are. Time to take off my work lap robe, put on a coat, and give the car a test drive. Or maybe tomorrow. I think there�s a pumpkin ale or two in the fridge, and they�ve got my name on �em.