Wait, wait, wait motherfuckers, it’s not at all what your dirty damn minds are thinking. Or is it? Is it? It’s actually quite innocent, but, there’s more, it goes much deeper than that, because a conversation with a tech services department really left me questioning the number I dialed when seeking assistance. But now I have jumped to the middle of the story, so let me back track a bit and tell you a story, a true story, a story which happened to me this past weekend. In the end, no matter what, I’m very innocent, my entire conversation reminded me, quite a bit, about the commercial where the guy is talking to his insurance agent at three in the morning when his wife slips in, turning on the light wanting to know what in the fuck he is doing and who in the fuck he is talking to. The difference is I was not getting insurance information from Jake, I was getting information from, wait, nevermind, you have to wait til that part of the story. So, I sense your confusion, so perhaps I need to just start.
A few weeks ago I ordered a set of replacement headlights for my daughter’s older Nissan Sentra because both of the headlights had a crack in them which in turn was letting in moisture which in turn was creating its own set of problems. I try not to plug companies for free here, but JC Whitney was a great help in finding the product I needed. In fact, when I was having problems on line I did call them to request help, the guy I spoke with at that time was Jack, he helped me place my order and I was on my merry little way while I waited patiently for my box to arrive. Within a few days the box did arrive that contained the headlight replacement kit. From the look of it I assumed it was all correct and as soon as I had a day without rain I was going to be all over it. I had a long wait, but this past Sunday was the magic day. I got out my trusty orange bucket to use as a chair, my toolbox, a frosty cold beverage, and the box of headlights. I was ready to go. Home alone, the breeze blowing nicely, and my music playing out of her car loudly. Is 7 in the morning too early to listen to Crazy Train? I didn’t think so either.
Removing the old ones was a bit of a challenge, the manual that was provided mentioned it was the “typical” way to disassemble the existing light housings. But, and this is a general complaint to translated 3 times over instructions, something that I need is always lost in translation, literally. After finding the remaining 2 screws, the housing popped right out into my lap. It was like magic, presto, its out. I felt as though I had beat the car which challenged me with the tiny hidden screws. I need more “victories” like this in my life, they are simple but they are still mine. After completely cleaning both sides out, spider webs and debris caked up over the years, I was ready to begin. Meanwhile my wife is calling me to check up on me, see if I’m bleeding or not, and to inform me that if I need an extra set of hands she will be home in ten minutes. Sure, why not, I can wait, help is help. After fifteen minutes and no wife I decided to brave it all alone and just finish. Within ten minutes the new light housings were installed. That was the easy part. Then I find myself getting just a wee bit pissed. The electrical connection from the car is rectangular in shape, the new lights come with a more square connection. Needless to say I would have been extremely mad, but I found a harness kit in the box, one for each side. I had two choices, use the adapter to crossover or cut the cars wires and install the female ends so it all works. I chose the adapters. Here’s the catch, they still don’t fit. Thinking I’m stupid some how, I redo the same steps multiple times.
Having no luck, I roll back on my bucket, light a cigarette, have a drink of Dew, and re-read the instructions thinking this shit shouldn’t be so hard. Unable to figure it out I call the 1-800 # for the manufacturer who claims to be open 24/7. I call regretting having to make the call, these things never end well, I’m not looking to speak to someone in a call center halfway around the world. After navigating the rather simple menu I’m on hold for less than 30 seconds and speaking to a woman who speaks fluent English, my guess is that it might even be her native tongue. She has a very pleasant voice, she guided me through finding all the product information she required to find the proper spec sheet and instructions. After reading though them she comments that the way they are written is pretty confusing, a statement which I agreed to quickly. So, now its time to begin, I put my phone on speaker, turn up the volume, and set the phone on the radiator housing. She commented that she liked Ozzy, old school Ozzy like she hears in the background, and she wishes she was alive back in his glory days because she would have been at all of his concerts rocking out. So, we go through the plugging and unplugging routine, still no go, still not working. Then, she asks me if I put on the protective gel on the connectors to inhibit corrosion. Nope. So, this is where it got fun, because my wife comes up behind me quietly and kisses me on the cheek. The operator tells me to hold the male section (I’m still on speaker) in one hand and squeeze generous amounts of lube on the protruding prongs, assuring to push into the crevices with my fingers. My wife is just looking at me with that look, y’all know the look, hands on the hips, ect. I’m asked to put the male part down and pick up the female plug, she tells me to just fill up the entire cavity with the gel because she wants me to see it oozing out when the connection is finally made. Now, I’m instructed to grab each plug, male and female and gently make the connection.
Excuse me ma’am, but how much force do I need to apply, the male section will not go in easy. She tells me to grip both ends firmly and just slide it in slowly with steady straight pressure. Bingo! the parts clicked together. She asked if I needed assistance with the other side. Out of the blue my wife says, “it’s safe to say that I can help him slip his male part into the proper female part now that he knows he was in the wrong position to make the connection”. She looked at me, hit end call, and told me I wasn’t holding my tongue right in the first place. She was a bit confused to whom I was talking to in the first place. So, after I explained to my wife who I called for help we just started laughing our asses off, because this shit was hilarious as hell. Indeed, the other side went in without a hitch. I watched my wife walk off, I hated to see her leave but I do enjoy the show. As I cleaned up, I started thinking that the operator (Amanda) reminded me of that insurance commercial as well as those new erection deficiency commercials that are on the television nowadays, the one with the porn star telling you that you should buy their shit if you are over forty. HA! I’m pushing fifty and still function like a teeanaged boy. It’s like a genie in a bottle, think about it, if you don’t get the relation then you got problems.
In the end, with the aid of some great technical support, I was able to tame the beast and finish the challenge of exchanging the light housings. I’m grateful for Amanda’s assistance and that she was able to have a little fun with me. Now, to explain it better to y’all, it was not my dirty mind who took that into the gutter, it was my wife’s, who needed to share the story with her sister and her friend, and while I was listening to her version she made it sound I was on the phone with a 1-900 call girl or something. All I can say is I liked Amanda’s approach, more often than not we call the service centers and are left in utter disappointment. Amanda left me with the impression that she knew her fucking job and she was customer friendly. All call center employees need to take notes because it never hurts (to at least act) to like your job. It projects across to your customers fast. Anyway, I just thought you would have fun hearing this story.