Friday, June 14, 2019

Washer Fluid

The vegetation is extraordinarily lush. It has been raining on and off for weeks. Occasionally the gloom is interrupted by fragments of sunshine.  The promise is for heat and sun most of next week. The predominantly foul weather has helped eclipse two annoyances which provoked me: damage to my car; and an inguinal hernia.  In that order.  The hernia disabled me for several days while I prepared for the surgery and afterwards recovered from it. The narcotics helped. The car thing lingered until just an hour ago. In both instances the disagreeable weather mimicked my mood.

Whenever Life presents - as it always does - its trifling dilemmas the challenge is to deal with the discomfort reasonably; that is, by sensible standards of judgment, justifiably. I won't pretend that I have ever succeeded to distance myself fully from obstruction.  On the contrary I attack it directly, even aggressively. I don't like being defeated by or succumbing to irritation. My testy determination usually promotes impatience; and, as a result of the inaction which invariably follows, further displeasure.  All the while I attempt to disguise my perturbation.  Because my level of anxiety is so comparatively low - and because people have more important things to concern themselves - the pique goes largely unnoticed. But until I fulfill the catharsis it seethes within me.

The frozen truth is that my immediate upsets are unpersuasive. The embarrassing insight is that the least imbalance in my otherwise clockwork existence qualifies as cataclysmic. This regrettably is the misfortune of the obsessive mind. Like any other person with a recognizable and admitted infirmity, I try to override the inertia. Because nobody's listening and nobody cares, I accommodate this private campaign by insisting that details matter.  It's really the psychological usurpation of science over emotion. The painful reality is that with very few exceptions people are typically beyond minutiae.  It matters not that one is a doctor, lawyer or mechanic - detail is equally offensive to most; and the application is similarly indiscriminate. Knowing this only propels my conviction to pursue it.  It is not - in spite of its purpose - a heady ambition filled with lofty intention. It is purely to take care of business, specifically my business.

Other than for the record (and its relieving purge) there is no merit in rendering a yawning account of the particulars of my complaint. One may as well complain of the weather.  As so frequently is the case, things work themselves out, time heals all. What I will say however is that regaining my medical and personal equilibrium required effort. As I have oft stated the Universe is ultimately personal; which is to say, there is nothing glamorous about it. And God helps those who help themselves. Regularly I hear from friends that they have thankfully attended to the details of their personal salvation because the authorities to whom it was entrusted have not. At times there may be significant cause for worry; more often though the issue is just tying loose ends. My inclination is to excuse tawdry performance on the assumption that there are weightier trials. This does not obliterate my heartfelt opinion that people do at times act improvidently.  Accordingly they have to be vetted and checked.

When the rain at last disappears and the sunshine returns, all is well! Though I confess that no day is entirely spared its grittiness; nor will I deny that attention to detail is imperative.


I arrived as agreed at the dealership at 4:30 pm on a Friday afternoon to collect my car. I was instantly greeted by the Proprietor's owner.  Initially I thought he was anxious for the return of his vehicle which had been lent to me a week ago when I was informed my car would have to go for repair to repaint the scratch inflicted by the staff during the maintenance of my vehicle. His motive was however different.  After sharing civilized observations about how accidents happen and his upcoming social engagement, he assured me that my car was ready, that everything was taken care of. I was pleased to get on with things because I had been told a week ago that the car would have been ready last Tuesday.  It was not. I naturally understood the possibility of delay but regrettfully I had been obliged to inquire - on three separate occasions. No one from the dealership had informed me.

At the service desk I returned the key for the "loaner" car and collected my own.  The clerk told me the defective fog lamp had been replaced (the original reason for my attendance last week) and that the radio now appeared to be working properly (an additional concern of mine). She did not however know where exactly the car had been damaged (in fact she knew nothing about the incident); nor did she know anything about the perfection of the three malfunction alerts on My Lincoln App. She gleefully advised that she doesn't even own a smartphone, a perfectly acceptable fact which however did nothing to acquit my enquiry.

I went to the car to make a cursory examination.  The rear seat was totally collapsed.  This was not a big deal but it was the first time in the three cars of this model which I have owned that I had seen the seat in such a state. I pondered why it was necessary to collapse the seat at all.  I put it back in order.

I then checked the windshield washer fluid to see if indeed as reported by the alert it was empty.  It was.  I approached a service writer who was chatting nearby in the garage with a colleague and asked if there were any washer fluid.  Though he offered to add the fluid himself I insisted upon doing it myself. I had already developed a mistrust of relying upon other people to do things. I replenished the washer fluid.  The service writer speculated that the recent maintenance had necessitated the removal of the fluid (which I knew had been filled only a week before when I first attended the shop).

After returning the washer fluid bottle to its place in the garage, I examined the front interior of the car and noticed a steel lug stored in the console. I asked the same service writer why it was there.  He said it was because the wheels had been removed.  He did not know why; nor - when I explained the scratch incident - did he know where the car had been damaged.  He suggested I return the lug to wherever it was normally kept.  I did so.

I asked the same service writer how to delete the malfunction alerts from the Lincoln Way App.  He did not know how though he assured me they would disappear automatically when the car engine was turned on.  This was peculiar to me because it had obviously not remedied the faulty washer fluid alert.  The other two alerts related to malfunction of indicator lights and a driver sensor.  Accordingly I performed what tests I could to verify whether those malfunctions had indeed been remedied.  When I was satisfied as best I could that they were, I discovered the means to delete the alerts from the software.

When I got home I examined the front fender of the car where the damage had reportedly occurred.  I found a small scratch on the surface.  I have no idea whether it or another was the initial problem.

I am quite willing to acknowledge that these details are overall piddling. What irks me is that I was obliged to fulfill tasks within the agenda of others. The car was not redelivered in tact.  There was no explanation of the defect. As petty as the issues may be they nonetheless congeal the assessment of performance.  It makes all the related fuss about surveys (which inevitably follows) withering. More significantly the easy discovery of failed undertakings makes one wonder what further foundering hasn't been discovered.

Early this morning I returned to the dealership to have the wheel nuts checked and retorqued as mandated by the Customer Service Report yesterday. Happily the matter was handled expeditiously by a young gentleman  On my way home, rejoicing in this return to C-Major, I unhappily noticed that a portion of the vehicle's interior moulding on the passenger side had come apart. I sped back to the dealership. The same helpful, red-headed technician assisted me.

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