I hope that’s not the start of a joke.

Do you ever begin your day knowing exactly which tasks you’re going to do, but refusing to plan your day in a logical order?

If you do, please tell me how that works.  Do you write the name of each task on a slip of paper and shake them up in a jar to make sure your selection of the next task is completely random?  Do you choose the order based on the colour of the slip of paper?

“Oooo, that’s a pretty pink.  I think I’ll do the pink one next…”

No, really, I want to know.  Because I can’t figure out how this transmission-repair place does it.

I called a week in advance to make an appointment, and I only want a diagnostic.  It’s not like I’ve arrived out of the blue with a dead tranny.  But the best they can do is, “Drop it off between 8 and 9 in the morning, and it’ll be done sometime later today.  Probably this afternoon.”

I bet these guys wouldn’t put up with that from their doctor.  I bet they expect an appointment time, and I bet they get irate if the doctor makes them wait.  I’d love to see their faces if they showed up for their appointment and the receptionist told them, “Just take a seat.  The doctor will see you sometime today.  Maybe earlier, maybe later, so be ready to spend the day just in case.  Do you feel lucky?  Well, do ya, punk?”

Since inefficiency and illogic drive me crazy, this system is threatening to make my brain explode.  I have no control over the outcome, so I’ve decided to see if I can influence the process.

I plan to sit in their waiting room, about six feet in front of the guy behind the desk.  He’s already tried to get me to leave a couple of times – even offered me a ride down to the mall.  But I politely declined, and now I’m sitting here working on my laptop.  I made it clear I plan to wait for as long as it takes.  Right here.  Watching him.

I’m hoping he’ll get tired of the sight of me and bump my car up the random order just to get rid of me.  But that’s probably too optimistic.

Instead, I’ll likely spend the day sitting here sending psychic “hurry up” messages that bounce off the impervious skulls of everyone in the place, and the only things I’ll accomplish will be some productive work and a really sore ass.  These waiting-room chairs are butt-breakers.

But I have hope.

Their bathroom is clean.  Spotless, in fact.  That’s gotta be a good sign.  And the smell of automotive fluids and the sound of air tools always soothes my soul, so I’m in a happy place (except for the chair).

Positive mental attitude.  Maybe it’ll work.

I’ve only been here for half an hour.

My ass hurts.

***

Epilogue

It worked!  They brought my car in first, and I was out of there by 10:30.  And they cleaned the bathroom and mopped the floor of the waiting room again in the short time I was there.  There’s probably a lesson in that somewhere.

Anybody else find a correlation between bathroom cleanliness and service quality?