Cru Jones Society

 

Dear Television and Appliance Repair Stores,

I begin this letter stating that I had no idea appliance repair stores still existed. I figured this disposable, when something breaks just get a new one, wasteful society had rendered these establishments modern day buggy whip industries. As someone who wastes almost nothing – I have a blue dress shirt from Gap that I received in high school still in heavy rotation – I was pleased to find a multitude of such establishments still alive and kicking due to the recent status of my bedroom television.

As for what happened to it exactly, I can only guess, but my inclination is to blame Buttfore and/or Bumhug. The jack that receives the coaxial cable in the rear of the television had been pried entirely from the case rendering all viewing impossible due to my lack of a traditional antenna. Considering I overcame my home maintenance handicap (read: complete and total retardation) to secure the cable firmly along the wall, I know neither Lady E nor myself tripped on it to jar it loose. I suspect the evil Bumhug-Buttfore duo were in the midst of one of their many action movie chase sequences where the loser gets quasi-raped when they ended up behind the TV and jerked it out of its proper place. Only a guess, but sometimes you just know.

Granted, it was not easy to find a television repair shop where its proprietor’s first language was English; nor was it a simple task to find a shop within 10 fucking miles of my downtown apartment, but that’s beside the point. I eventually found one 9 miles down the road (Hooray!) where its owner told me the typical cost of repair for such damage averaged $85. I can handle that. Sure as hell cheaper than buying a new one…

Or so I thought.

As I ventured down godforsaken Santa Fe Drive in the wretched heat with my busted TV in the backseat looking like an insolent toddler, I was filled with self-satisfaction that I did the right thing in finding a repair shop instead of just tossing this perfectly good television to the wayside at the first instance of difficulty. “People give up too easily,” I thought as I sat at the interminable stoplights surrounded by beaters, cars with varying degrees of aesthetic damage, and large trucks with charming window decals like: “Lift it. ‘Cuz fat chicks can’t jump.”

I pulled into the parking lot of the quaint looking shop nestled in a tiny strip mall and dutifully pried my television from its insolent vehicular temporary living quarters and proudly set it on the shop’s front counter like a champion show dog waiting for its examination from a tight assed judge. He quickly diagnosed my problem, told me he’d have no trouble fixing it, and as I made small talk about all the other appliances his shop repaired – vacuums, VCRs, DVD players, fax machines, blenders, anything electronic he told me – he quickly filled out a work order.

“Okay, a $95 deposit is required,” he said.

I protested and informed him that he told me no more than $85 over the phone. He denied ever talking to me, but his flinty, weathered voice betrayed his shenanigans. He soothed my temporary discomfort by telling me that the $95 is used for labor to diagnose and often fix the problem. More often that not, he continued, cost is only about $20 above the initial $95 investment. Fine, I thought. That seems fair. Considering this is appliance repair – and the fact that we’re in god-awful Englewood – he’s probably been ripped off plenty by the neighborhood yokels.

When I asked him if upon hearing the diagnosis I decided the cost just wasn’t worth it, he gave me the typical trite salesman rap of “Hey, I’d love to fix this stuff for my friends for free all day, but I have rent, bills to pay, food to buy…” Yeah, blah blah blah, I fucking get it, you ass. You have to make money to survive, etc. I just wanted to know if you were going bend me over this table or not, and since you gave me the standard issue salesman response, I’m guessing yes at this point. Although, if I do refuse service, he said I can put the $95 toward a new TV, so that’s good. I guess. Of course, he’d probably figure out a way for me to buy undercoating or supplemental insurance or some extraneous bullshit with it. Whatever.

I’m still reasonably pleased with my decision to get my television repaired, although I soured slightly fighting the miserable Friday afternoon traffic facing the painful inevitability of putting a suit back on that night for some idiotic schmoozing cocktail party at work that night. Ick.

And then yesterday happened.

I get a call from smarmy salesman’s barely-English speaking technician telling me the jack is ripped out of the back and he needs to fix it. Yeah, no shit, Rico. How many fucking rubles is it going to cost me? He tells me the grand total is going to be $165.

Fuck.

Is that with or without my $95 deposit?

Fortunately without (making my new total $75), but still.

As I sit remembering my initial conversation with Salesman Joe and his lazy eye, I realize what a lousy sucker I am. I’ve been to the mechanic before, I know what’s up. Anytime you can’t fix something yourself, you’re at the mercy of some asshole who’s going to exploit your ignorance for every last dollar your stupid ass is willing to shell out. I failed to do my due diligence here, and now I’m paying for it. I’m already more than half way there, so I give him the okay.

He then upsells me by telling me both the VCR and DVD component need cleaning and that he usually does that for $65 each, but he’ll give me a special deal and do them both for that price. I was in sales – I know this tactic. It’s a bald-faced lie, but a psychological killer. If you don’t know whether or not I acquiesced to his insistence that the TV “really, really needed it…” well, then you obviously don’t know me very well.

So here’s the real kick in the nuts. How long before I can have my TV with brand new coaxial jack and clean as a whistle built-in VCR and DVD player? “Ummmmm, we’ll try to have it done by the end of the week.”

You dickbag. You’ve already got the TV taken apart (your words), and you just upsold me on a questionably necessary cleaning job. Goddamn fuckin’ A, right you’ll have it done by the end of the week! I’m driving the fuck down there on Friday and if my shit’s not ready, I’m pulling Joe Salesman with the lazy eye’s embarrassing flesh-colored chin pubes out of his pimply little chin one by one.

So fuck, now I’m out more than $200 to repair a TV that isn’t even HD ready. And I have to deal with shitass Friday afternoon Santa Fe Drive traffic again. And it’s going to be filthy, fuck my ass hot all week. Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! But don’t even feel sorry for me; I brought this upon myself. Which brings me back to the original crux of this letter…

To all appliance repair stores: If the above story sounds at all familiar and seems like something more than a handful of your customers likely experienced, know this. We’re going to wise up. Those of us who still value our possessions and get the most possible use out of them will one day figure it out. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, and it may even take a few trips like this, but we’re going to get there. One day will be one time too many, and the mechanically disinclined among us will pick up a screwdriver, haphazardly stumble upon How Stuff Works.com and fix this shit ourselves. We might die trying, but dealing with what’s become the last bastion of the proverbial snake oil salesmen is a fate far worse than death. There’s a reason mom-and-pop stores like this are fewer and further between. You’re a bunch of double-dealing, baiting-and-switching charlatans.

You can bet your sweet ass you won’t see me again. I’ll just coerce some of my handy friends to aid with my newest problem with beer and good cigars. Failing that, I’ll bribe some underage tech from Best Buy with illegal booze. Either way, it’s better than this.

Fuck you very much.

Sincerely,

E Dagger

edagger@crujonessociety.com