“All I want is a freakin’ key!” I say/whine for what only feels like the hundredth time at the second dealership ….
When I got my beloved Mazda 6 back in August, one of the things that came up was that there was only one key with the vehicle. “No big deal,” said Mike, the guy who had gone to the auto auction and got the car for me. “You can have another made pretty easily.”
Of course, I thought. No big whoop—I can go anywhere and get an extra key made ….
Now i’m sure there are a few of you out there already chuckling to yourself—rather than bore you with all the details, I’ll just say that my car requires a special computerized key that can NOT be gotten from just anywhere. You have to go to a …. dealership.
If there truly are circles of hell as Dante suggests, one of them is assuredly the waiting room of an automobile dealership.
I am very fortunate that I have an excellent, honest mechanic whom I trust: Todd Anderson, the owner of an independent garage who knows me, my wife and our vehicles, and only does the work our cars need. He’s friendly, he’s honest and makes suggestions for work that can be done but never ever forces it on us.
When I was debating about having extensive work done on my old car, I asked Todd if he would do it—with both of us knowing that he’d be the guy who would do the work. He told me not to do it and that it wasn’t worth it for me, which cost him a few thousand dollars at that moment but has guaranteed a lifetime customer. Good luck getting that recommendation from a dealership, unless it’s followed by, “But you can buy an expensive, overpriced, brand-new car right off our lot here!”
No thanks!
Unfortunately, as Todd confirms, I have to find a Mazda dealership to have an extra key made. On a Saturday, I go to a Mazda dealership in Hamden—I’d link to them but as it turns out, they’re a bunch of douchebags.
Yes, bags filled with douche.
I go to the service department and they tell me that if I want a new key, I have to go all the way around the facility—a distance far enough that they tell me to drive—to the parts department to have it done.
I get back in my car, drive all the way around the buildings and eventually find the parts department. I go in and ask about having a key made. In short, the two gents exiled there tell me they can do it, but it’s going to take an hour because they have to program the computer chip in it.
Annoying, but I understand. They then start asking me about what kind of key I want. “I want one to drive the car,” I say, slightly exasperated. “What other kind is there?”
The two “Buckwild” rejects tell me that there’s a key like I have—
—with all the electronic bells and whistles, which I hate (too bulky). Programmed, it costs well over $300.
“Are there other options?” I ask. “All I want is an extra key.”
They tell me there’s a more simple key that only costs about $150, but—and I quote—”You won’t be able to start the engine with it.”
“What the hell good is that?” I ask. “Why would anyone want that?”
Tweedle D-Bag and Tweedle D-Baggier just shrug.
“Okay, whatever,” I say. “All I want is a freakin’ key. Let’s do it.”
They both look at each other. “Well,” one says, “You have to go back over there to the service department to see if it’s available or have them order it, and then set up the appointment.”
“WAIT!” I try not to shout. “THEY sent me over HERE for that. Don’t you guys do that over here? Why would they send me all the way over here otherwise?”
The idiot brothers just shrug.
Almost biting down on my tongue hard enough to snap it off, I nod, go back to me car and drive out of there. NEVER TO RETURN as it turns out, because that cheaper $125 key (not $150!) they talked about actually *WILL* start the engine. I find this out at a different Mazda dealership in another town.
“Okay, let’s make an appointment,” I tell the guy behind the counter, still not crazy about having to come back—all I want is a freakin’ key!—but slightly happier that I’m dealing with a slightly more honest and cheaper dealership.
I come back at the appointed time, but when I come through the door, the first thing the guy tells me is that he needs my registration and odometer reading.
“All I want is a key,” I grouse at him, but I go back out to the car and retrieve the information. I give him the stuff, and then he starts asking way more personal information than should be involved with making an extra key for my car.
He finally asks me for my cell phone number and that’s my breaking point. “Sorry but you don’t need that to make a freakin’ key!” I exclaim. “COME ON! All I want is a FREAKING KEY!” (You know, just like at the start of this post—see how I did that?)
He counters that he needs my info to put my car “In the system,” but I know that really means: “We need your info so we can repeatedly call and email you in the hopes of getting you to buy another car, or better yet, track your mileage so that we can harass you into having expensive and quite often unnecessary service work at intermittent periods.”
Again, I say, “No.”
Surprisingly, he finds they can make the key without my cell phone number. Go figure!
I go to the waiting where there’s a young woman in the waiting room. As I sit down, they come out to tell her that her car “only needs a few more little things” that they should do “while it’s here.”
Clearly not knowing any better, she agrees. I’m still there when she goes to pay—and even though it’s “a good dealership,” it turns out what sounds like was supposed to be a simple oil change winds up costing her $269.
I almost throw up for her.
At least she didn’t need a key!