Midas on King Street and me yelling

Here's something you don't know about me--when I go off, I will make an ass of myself. I know this about myself, and try not to "go off," but often modern society does its best to prevent me from keeping my cool.

Let me try to give you an example. Way back in November, I took my car into Midas on King Street in Northampton (I use these words in the hopes that anyone doing a search for the Midas on King Street in Northampton) will find this post.

The mechanic noticed that there was something wrong with my front brakes. I let them work on my car. After a week, the problem I had originally complained about persisted. I took the car back. Turns out the mechanic had replaced the rear brakes instead of the front. He assured me that the back brakes were bad too. He also assured me that looking at my front brakes, I would also now need my emergency brake fixed.

This is the car I use to drive my kids around.

I paid the man to fix the brakes. After that point, the only complaint came from my wife who assured me that the damn car squeeked. I hadn't noticed the squeek because I placate my children with heavy doses of children's music which my wife can't stand. I listen to the music, I don't hear the squeek. She doesn't listen to the music, she does hear the squeek.

As you can imagine the squeek got worse and worse, so we took the car back to Midas on King Street in Northampton, Massachusetts (in case you were wondering). They then looked at the car and decided that something else was wrong with the brakes. The brakes they had just fixed (you ask as if to be followed by the phrase "what are you, shitting me?")? No, the brake pads this time which evidentally are not part of the brakes they just fixed.

They traded out the brake pads and wheeled the car out. My wife drove it a block and took it back. Not only was it still squeeking, but it now had a new noise. The mechanic assured me that the model of car I had bought just weren't all that reliable and that I should expect squeeks and crap like that.

Now, I will say this. I showed considerable restraint when I told the mechanic that in no uncertain terms that he was either an incompetent jackass or a fucking crook. Because...and I'd like to make this clear...it was only one of those two options people.

Here's the thing, the horrible thing, really. There's nothing about that situation that's positive. What should have happened, what would happen in any decent society is that I'd get my money back and that anyone seeing my vulgar display would have read it as an obvious sign that if Midas on King Street in Northampton, Massachusetts turned their customers into raving lunatics then they should, under no circumstances, take their cars there for fear of being put into a similar state of madness.

But that's just the thing. No one ever thinks that. They think, 'hey, who's that crazy guy and does he know how stupid he looks yelling at that poor mechanic like that.' In fact, chances are someone probably walked into the store and expressed sympathy for the mechanic I was yelling at, saying something like, "some people."

What this means is that in the modern world, it is absolutely and totally counterproductive to react with outrage at situations that are outrageous--that in a sense, no matter how poorly you are treated, even when you are PAYING for that treatment, you have no recourse for anger. That's just stupid, and I'll say this as well, probably dangerous.

When I was 18, I would have put a fire extinguisher in their mail slot. Now, sad really, I write a blog post and hope to get a good Google ranking.