"Life is a lemon and I want my money back" - part two

I hear the words but am nonchalant as the man on the other end of the line is speaking with a faux apology. “So sorry this happened to you. We typically …”

“Typically?? This happens frequently?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, two to three times a week.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Go on.”

“We typically give five-hundred dollars compensation, but I know that’s an insult at this point. I will get you more. Hold on while I speak with my team.”

He leaves me to listen to an unknown pop-country song that’s seemingly on a loop. Like a scene from Bill Murray’s “Groundhog Day,” this moment has a lot of similarities to every other time I call the customer service line. I call the company, am put on hold, hear this exact song, and wait. I realize the upbeat tempo is probably meant to reduce stress and it works, surprisingly well.

He returns to the line sounding excited. “I can get you seven-hundred and fifty dollars.”

But the song doesn't work that well. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Miss, I really can’t get you anymore, even this was an exception.”

“OK, you know what, forget the money for a moment. What I really need is a rental. I’m currently without a car. I cannot go another four weeks without transportation.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. Just call our subcontractor and they’ll get you a car.”

“Yes, but will it be free of charge?”

“Absolutely.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Well, no. Since they’re not actually part of our company, I can’t get that. But the car will be free.”

“Forgive me for not believing you,” I say feeling my patience slip away and hearing my tone change from resigned yet angry to mad. “I need some sort of assurance that will, without a doubt, get me a rental without charge and without hoops.”

As psychosis threatens my normally chill being, I lose sight of the point. Deep within me I know this whole charade is a bad deal, but I’m still hung up on a dream car. I push forward as if this situation is a crack in the windshield versus missing the entire windshield and catching bugs on my glasses as I speed down the highway.

He places me on a second hold. I hear the same pop country tune. I still don’t know the words but recognize it's at the same point as when I was last put on hold. He returns telling me what I already know – a rental cannot be promised nor can it be released without charge.

A-ha. I feel vindicated yet still trapped without a car and longing for a vehicle that would serve me better as a giant paperweight than its intended purpose.

He tells me he can indeed get me the car, but first, I just need to sign a contract saying I will definitely purchase the long-awaited alien green Kia Soul once it gets a replacement engine.

The words finally click: “sign a contract.” Make it official. Make this gorgeous green piece of junk mine.

Red flag. Red flag alert.

I hang up without giving a definitive answer, but rather a “I’ll think about it.” I’m reminded a check for seven-hundred and fifty dollars will be sent to me and I can expect it within seven to ten days.

My friend and colleague who knows the dilemma rushes over to me when she hears silence coming from my corner of the room. I tell her the predicament and she patiently listens. When I finish speaking, she paces in her spot and offers a truth I don’t want to hear.

A flush of utter hopelessness washes over me. She reminds me this isn’t the end of the story and dashes back to her desk. She calls out keywords to me: “Kia Soul; New England; dealership; stick shift.” Seconds later, she tells me one is available in Boston “and it’s red,” she announces in a cheery voice.

I fight to dilly-dally in my pity party when she announces another car is available. A proverbial spark ignites within me and I push aside the doubt to join her, giving this mission my undivided attention. After we both leave the office for the day, I’m still undeterred. Through the night I research “2017-2019 Kia Soul; manual transmission; New England; dealership.” Then, I narrow the search to “no accidents; one owner; low mileage.”

My anxiety races. I discover several available Kia Souls with my requirements – one in Maine; two in New Hampshire; and two in Connecticut. Of the two in my home state, one catches my eye. I email the dealership, acknowledging no one will respond until mid-morning, but reassure my sanity the rest is out of my control for the evening.

Stay tuned for the part three – the conclusion.