poured out before bed
Dear Dihydrotestosterone Ford Service Center,.
I couldn’t help but notice this past weekend, whilst entrusting to you the installment of new (terribly overdue) tires on my little old beast, that there was something odd about your customer waiting room.
Certainly, it is well furnished – plentiful deep, comfy chairs and couches, enough sturdy end tables to support the large number of magazines you have graciously provided for your customers perusal, a flat screen TV secured to each wall. And there were certainly a lot of customers utilizing said room. You do a cracking business.
But, dear service center, I noted that each of your customers – every single individual approaching your customer service desk or sinking down into your comfortable chairs to wait – was female. Now, this is not a bad thing. Not at all! Those with the XX pedigree tend to X out any sort of business not quite on top of it’s game, so the number of women streaming in and out of your building is rather encouraging. The problem is, you don’t do quite enough to truly encourage them.
On the walls in your waiting room? Pictures of macho cars with rather well-endowed women flung across the hoods (well endowed breast-tissue-wise, not with enough money to purchase well fitting clothing and too weak from hunger to do anything but lie there sullenly). On your sturdy coffee tables? Magazines on football, muscle cars, and hunting. On the TV? A college football game. The other TV? Another college football game. Another TV? ESPN talking heads talking about those games. The last TV? Swamp People.
The woman I was sitting next to shifted through all the magazines and found the only Better Homes and Gardens issue in the place. She had to use it to beat back a group of three women who in their similar searches had only just missed it. I don’t know if it was the recent utilization as a weapon or the many (many) months it had been sitting in that room as the most sought after magazine in the place that made it appear so ragged and wrinkled. Another woman had brought her own In Style magazine (you’ve obviously worked on her car before). She had to explain (and prove) to a somewhat brisk fellow customer that it was her own personal copy, thus she was indeed going to take it with her.
My dear service center – spring for NatGeo, the Food Channel, PBS, or at the very least a news station (women are always interested – and typically involved – in world issues, you know) to put on that fourth TV. Get a nice picture of a powerful and sexy (and sensible) car with a buff gentleman in a suit (we have to know he has a good body and a good job) and slap it on one of those walls. And, for heaven’s sake, subscribe to something palatable – The New Yorker, Time, National Geographic, Cooking Light, even Reader’s Digest or any one of those multitude travel or business or science or gardening or health and fitness magazines – something with a little more sense than a highly vascular testicle.
And, if you could get us ladies on our way in less than two and a half hours (so that we might continue to save the world) (ie, quit messing about with your smart phones together in plain sight of the waiting room) and maybe lower your exorbitant prices (so we can support the education of our big smart brains even while tending to our well adjusted and healthy families), that would be great, too. But, baby steps. Get that waiting room in order.* Then we’ll talk about my brakes.
Your Loyal (but slightly disgruntled) Customer,
* If you are a woman who goes all and intelligently in for any of those things described in the current customer waiting room, have I got a Ford Service Center for you! Though, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I had something to look at and watch while I sat there with you?