Every single time I've ever taken my car into the garage, it has always been returned to me with the driver's seat pulled right forward as if whoever's been working on it is a midget.
Maybe it's a union thing. Maybe they only allow really short people to get jobs in garages.
Perhaps garages are full of little people who are small enough to climb around inside my car and fix things with their tiny, tiny hands!
I'm not complaining, anyway. I took my car in today expecting to fork out a couple of hundred quid for a new alternator but ended up paying thirty quid to replace a frayed wire!
2 comments:
Poor Rochester! Why did you think he needed an alternator? Or do you guys actually only have the one cat that alternates between black and tabby? He'd probably been chewing the wire...
Ha ha. I see what you did there! But I've gone in and corrected my spelling mistake, so now who looks silly, huh?
Heh heh heh...
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