"Life is a lemon and I want my money back"

I wait with the clichéd baited breath. I count days, estimate hours, and justify seconds. The anticipation builds like the end of a workweek when I know an ice cream sundae with rainbow sprinkles and a chocolate syrup that hardens on cold surfaces awaits me after a Saturday morning weigh-in.

But this eagerness is greater. So much more. I know when the day arrives, I’ll reach a dream I’ve had since 2015 – an alien green Kia Soul with a stick shift. It’ll be an updated version of my beloved boxy car that was totaled just weeks ago but in green! I’m tickled with excitement.

As the big day inches closer, at a slug's pace, I am reminded by others who have been in my proverbial shoes that, too often, unforeseen circumstances happen with this company and the delivery date might be delayed … again.

“Nah,” I silently say to myself.

This time is different. The signed preliminary paperwork, approved loan with the cashier's checks awaiting an exchange, and the updated insurance marks all the checked boxes. Last time, the delivery date had been scheduled before the loan was approved, a rookie mistake on the company's part. This time is for real.

Mid-afternoon on the scheduled delivery date, the phone rings. I recognize the Arizona area code and answer it with a childlike excitement nearly bouncing out of the worn leather office chair in my home office.

The mood on the other end speaks an unwanted truth. “Delivery will be missed. Mechanical issues. Towed to a garage. Could get car later today. Probably not. Will call with details tomorrow” are the words that grab my attention.

Still holding that baited breath, I wait desperately hoping and wishing it's a minor issue. A flub. A boo-boo that just needs a Band-Aid.

I continue to wait. And wait.

The next day after the phone call deadline is missed, I leave a message.

And wait.

I try to occupy my mind with other tasks and walk away from the phone, but keep it within ear shot. It rings. I run like Lisa Kudrow's "Phoebe" in Central Park and reach the phone before my voice mail.

On the other end of the line, a seemingly young woman uses her best bedside manner and says, "the car needs a new engine."

I gasp and exclaim, “The car is four years old with just twenty-two thousand miles! How? Why?”

She tells me she doesn't know the answer. I try to grasp the rest of what she’s saying to me, "The mechanic will need four weeks to make the repair."

"Four weeks?" I don't have a vehicle now. How can I wait four weeks?

I listen to her speak further, not truly hearing the words. My mind battles between dumbfounded shock and anger to a preposterous degree. I finally say the first words that come to mind. “This is unacceptable. This is your mistake. I did everything you asked of me and you waiting until the twelfth hour to discover there is a major issue with the car is ridiculous. What are you going to do to compensate me?”

Stay tuned for part two.