Pardon? Could You Say That One More Time?

I was called for Jury duty the other day. I opened up the official letter and read that I needed to show up for at least one day, possibly two, whereupon lawyers could choose me as a potential juror by asking me a bunch of seemingly innocent questions.

When they called me to the stand, I wheeled my barrow full of Ginsu Knives, Sham-Wows, Oxy Clean, Magic Zippers, My Booty Belts and the rest and I wistfully said, "Your honour, while I would love to be a member of this jury, I cannot, in good conscience do it. It's not that I wouldn't mind the pay (motherhood is notoriously underpaid and the union seems to have folded), it's that I am far too easily swayed by a smokey voice and repetition.

For example:
Fact: My US purchased 2007 Honda CR-V also has a (purchased) extended warranty.
Fact: Canada won't honour US warranties, no matter how pretty or smart or hilarious you are.
Fact: My air-conditioning broke and therefore needs repair, and that is covered under my warranty.

After finding out Fact #2, I began looking up Honda Dealerships that are near my favourite shopping experiences in Michigan. Since I never drive, or pay attention as a passenger, I texted a friend for the info. She replied with the details and I happily called the nearest dealership. The sweet Michigander accent that greeted me was a breathe of fresh, smiley air.
"Hall-ow. Yau have called the nicest car deal-er in Mish-a-gann. How may I direct your call?"
"Yes. Um, Service please?"
"Handa or Chevy?"
"Huh?"
"Is it far Handa or Chevy?"
"Oh, uh, Handa." (I fall into the Michigan accent the way Ginger Rogers just seems to float backwards in Fred Astaire's arms. Delicious!)

"Handa Service, thas as Rack." (why are all service telephone guys named Rick? Is it some code name that they all have so if you get mad, you'll never really know the person you talked to?)
"Hi Rick. I have a problem and I think you might be able to help me." I proceed to tell him about how my car is a Colorado Native, and that now we live in Canada and because of some arbitrary, invisible line, called a border, I can't get my warranty needs met and my air conditioning is broken. And someone needs to fix it before I loose my mind. Sweat and I are NOT friends, we had a very bad, abusive-type break-up several years ago, and I've got a restraining order against it and here I am without AC in the frickin' hottest, muggiest summer of my life.

Rack, with his crackling, smokey voice, croons that he "can definitely halp" me, and we make an appointment for me to bring my car in for assessment at 9am on Monday. Youpee! Wait. Assessment? What is this "assessment" of which you speak?

"Oh yau knaw these mak-anics. Thay wall wanna see at to make sure that's all that is wrang."
"Well, hold on, Rick, I'll just read to you what the Canadian Honda dealer told me I need-- here's the paper work, it's says, "needs to AC clutch and coil assembly. So, do you have that part so I can get it changed same day?"
"Naw. If our mak-anics decide yau need all that, then we'll order one in."
"How long will that take?"
"Two days."
"Then can't you order it in and have it here for Monday?"
"Wall, the mek-anics have to see..."
"Are you telling me that the Canadian Honda dealership would try to sell me something I don't need?"
"Well, uh..."
"So, if a Honda dealer in Canada assessed my car and said I need this stuff to get fixed, I should be able to take it to any Honda place and get it fixed, right?"
"Uh, well, uh. Why don't I let you talk to the parts guy."
"Ok." I really felt like Columbo here, I'm not gonna lie. My one eye even starting looking up in another direction and I pulled out a stogie to chew on.

Rick #2, also sounding crackling and smokey picked up the phone.
"Parts. This is Rack."
"Fantastic. I have a problem, Rick. I need a new AC coil and clutch. I'm coming from Canada and I understand you don't keep this in stock, but I really don't want to make two trips. Can you order one in for Monday?"
"Sa yau've seen are mak-anics and they said yau need this part?"

Yes, this whole thing replayed. I'll save you the repetition, because, at this point, I really wanted to just get what I wanted and be done with this phone call. Plus writing this out again, with all these letter 'A's instead of other vowels is painstaking and laborious. I'm not the cut-and-paste type of gal.

Sigh.

But here's where it gets interesting (oh, and for the record, I had my way-super-excellent babysitter here for the day, so she had the kids-- they weren't just left to their own devices to fall down stairs and paint the walls while I had this irritating conversation).

Both Rick #1 and Rick #2 re-suggested they couldn't get the part in unless their mechanics saw my car, did an exam, then sent me on my way to come back two days later. I said that was unacceptable (which is weird for me, since I'm usually a pushover) and that the Honda people here saw it, said that was the issue and they (in America) should be able to fix exactly what the people here said needed fixing, without issue. But here's the deal: it made me start questioning my local Honda dealer. Isn't that crazy? I mean, I started to feel as though, "Gee, maybe the guys here missed something and it's not the AC, even though they put it on my bill, and I've been blowing nothing but hot air on me and the contents of my car for the better part of a month now. Maybe it's something different. Maybe it's not as bad as they said here."

That wee, tiny seed of doubt began germinating during the rest of our phone call and by the time I'd convinced him to have the part en route for Monday, I hung up the phone feeling dirty, dishonest and like I was screwing some invisible system of honour. WHAT?

I have facts and evidence. He had policy and assumption, and here I am smiling on the phone, trying to make him feel more comfortable with my request. I have the problem, I began searching for a solution (which is where I found out my American warranty isn't honoured here in Canada) and with a certified Honda diagnosis, I hung up that phone questioning MY facts.

In the criminal world, I have the equivalent to motive, opportunity and evidence, and yet, The Ricks were able to plant a seed of random stupidity that turned into doubt, which did nothing to change the facts, and I'm sent reeling.

So you see, your Honour, between my air conditioning issue, which remains unresolved because Husband found some loophole in my actual warranty contract that suggests I should be able to get the car serviced here in Canada, so I cancelled my appointment in Michigan, and because I was so insistent in the first place, I feel like a jerk calling back a third time to see if they can get the part before Canada can; and my wheelbarrow full of random crap I bought from watching commercials late at night, the proof is here. I am not a good juror; I am easily swayed by nonsense instead of fact."

The Prosecutor stood and nodded knowingly at me, sympathetically even, and followed with, "I think you are right. You want to be a juror. Only you won't be a good one. You want to do your duty and be a juror. But it won't work because you aren't good at seeing fact over fiction. Being a juror is important and should not be swayed by nonsense. You want to be a good person, you want to be a juror. But you have doubts. Right? What exactly did you say again?"

And, with the fervor and excitement of a "Price Is Right" contestant, I squealed with delight, jumped up and down and said, "I want to be a juror!" 

 Good thing I packed all my gadgets with me-- this case looks like a long one.








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