Oh Lord, won't you buy me...?

Welcome, mobile reader, as this week I tackle the very much first-world problem of car ownership. This is something that's different here in the US in numerous ways, some good, some bad. This week, I've got to say it didn't go all that well.

I have a well-known love of small Japanese sports cars. Sure, they're not the most stylish, they're not even the fastest, but they're fun to drive and they work. Japanese cars are built to handle whatever life throws at them and just keep going forever. They're also mildly bonkers: whether it be something that revs to 9000 rpm, or the tiniest car in America, with it's slightly wheezy boxer engine, there's an element of eccentricity about them which is also endearing.

Most American shopping trolleys are bigger than this

We all know that the worst part of owning a car is getting it serviced, because you have to go through the customer service nightmare of dealing with a garage; let's face it, the folks that work in garages do so because they get on better with cars than with people. That said, for the most part, this has been a much better experience for me here in the US than in the UK. It turns out that that was a streak that couldn't go on forever, and last week my luck ran out.

Here in the US, you can get your car serviced while you wait. Of course, anything qualifies as while you wait if you're prepared to wait long enough... although previously it's been an hour or maybe two at most. So I dropped the car off last week, expecting a similar timescale.

Please note, in the rest of this post, the names and locations have been changed to protect the guilty. Let's call my service advisor 'Ben' - that's one of my favourite names.

I should have been worried when, as I checked the car in, Ben was more interested in telling me about his boat and showing me a picture of the sturgeon he'd caught than giving me an indication of when the car would be ready. But never fear - one of the neat things about getting a service here is you get a number that you can text Ben on at any time for an update.

When I'd been waiting for two hours, and my phone and laptop battery were beginning to show some signs of tiredness, I asked Ben for a rough ETA, and he said he'd get back to me. Another hour later, I was starting to get a bit more agitated. I texted Ben again, and he told me he'd been "tied up" but the car would be ready in 30 minutes.

So we're now three hours into something that I thought would take two, and I'm not feeling confident in Ben. Maybe it's the general unresponsiveness; maybe it's the fact that HIS TEXT MESSAGES ARE ALL IN BLOCK CAPITALS WITH NO PUNCTUATION SORRY. I wandered off and got a coffee at a local artisan coffee place (yep, this is the Bay Area - there's no public transport, but there's a La Marzocco on every street corner), then made my way back to find no sign of the car.

We're now four hours in, and 30 mins past Ben's expected 30 minute deadline. I sent another text, and didn't get a reply; at this point I gave up and decided to leave the dealership and come back at closing time to pick up the car.

Except of course this is the Bay Area, so there's no public transport - it's a $30 Lyft ride back home. Another 90 minutes later, Ben finally replies to my text because he JUST GOT BACK FROM LUNCH ITS READY TO GO, and I'm thinking well, if the lunch breaks are that long then maybe I'm in the wrong job. When I finally go back, of course I have to wait a bit longer for them to get the car ready for me, despite me giving half an hour warning that I was coming. The good news is, without going into too much detail, it was quite a cheap service.

So lessons learned people: 'while you wait' is you gifting your time to the dealership, so don't do it. And find a dealer that's near a Caltrain stop, really. The ongoing environmental catastrophe means I'm trying to drive as little as possible, anyway, and when we get back to the UK I'm toying with the idea that we won't get a car at all.

This kinda ruined my plans for a fairly leisurely day catching up on a few bits and pieces, but Helen's got some weekend music-making planned soon so I should get another chance. The car itself seems utterly unfazed by the experience, and continues to putter on in its own mildly eccentric manner, blissfully unaware that it's the tiniest car in America.