Bodyshop does not equal Law Practice

You know there’s something wrong when you walk into your local car body shop’s office and it looks like an Attorney’s office. My car was hit (and run – by UPS no less) a few weeks ago. So I’m dealing with insurance drama of getting my car fixed. It’s the second hit and run for the Saab.

Since I thought I was being ripped off by my last mechanic (and he’s all the way across town) I decided to go with the shop my insurance company suggested. Usually my insurance company is really good and easy to work with. But the last hit and run was a nightmare – and this one is turning out to be the same. They’re treating me worse when _I_ caused the accident. And I’m no party to this accident at all… in fact, my car was parked on the street when the hit and runs happened.

So anyway, I’m taking the car in for an estimate. I’m waiting inside the white tiled floor, with solid oak grain reception desk to chest level. There are two sets of leather chairs and glass tables to sit at. No trashy magazines. No grease or dirt on the floor. There are three other wood grained desks in addition to the receptionist. To the left of the entrance is a glass office with blinds. I can see through the glass door that there are trophies in a bookcase. Fish tank meticulously cleaned.

Then the guy comes out to do an estimate on my car. He’s wearing khaki’s and has a secret agent Bluetooth device in his ear, in addition to his clean shaven face that looks like it carry’s an MBA along with it.

We go out to my car, he looks it over, takes pictures and that’s that. Now, I’m just waiting for my insurance company to convict UPS of their irresponsibility and get my car in the shop. I’m still weirded out. Maybe I’m prejudiced, but I like my mechanic’s offices greasy.

3 thoughts on “Bodyshop does not equal Law Practice”

  1. He’s all fat ‘n’ sassy on a steady diet of damage-award payouts. Your big monthly premiums are helping feed his exotic fish. Yeccch. I’m with you – I’d always rather trust a man with dirty fingernails.

  2. FROM Andrew in Poole Bay, England

    A guy outside the supermarket seeing me sling my bike on the metal railing before locking it up said “Mind my bike; it’s brand new!” It was. I perused it with astonishment. The poor old guy (same age as me I think) worried about a thing like that. (I never saw him there again.) Nothing used on the street stays new. I slop decals for ID all over my tubes, anyway.

    As to you poor guys with your cars and such, I am so sorry for you all. The law demands insurance and who knows what all. A whole series of industries are intent upon taking your cash. I apologise for butting in to a car conversation but I felt so sad. I have no answer for you. So long and good luck.


  3. You know, I worked at this Reseda BMW repair shop in high school and that place was the cleanest… anything I had ever seen. I mean, from the glass cases showing off manuals, model cars, interesting memorabilia to the beautiful blue car lifts, that place was classy. They even freakin’ steam cleaned the engines of the cars they repaired. Utterly amazing.

    So, maybe the term greasemonkey is ill-deserved?

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