I Broke My Brain

The last few weeks of my life have been terrible and confusing and I had to take time off from blogging to have a small nervous breakdown.

I also think that I broke my funny.


I hold my own well in conversation, but Jesus the shit splattered off the fan too fast for me to keep up with it. This is why I still think that I need a stenographer, you know, for those special moments. And because I’m too lazy to write any or all of it down before I forget it.

For your sake, I will be breaking the chain of events down into small portions to make it easier to digest.

Why I Tried to Make Auto Zone Employees Cry

Holy fuck balls, y’all. Is there some kind of competency test they give their applicants and only the people who fail get to work there?

The condenser fan motor on my car went out. This is the fan that cools the compressor so that you can have cold air coming out instead of blowing your shit up. I went to various used parts stores and junkyards trying to find one, but theirs were either gone or not working. Insert a lot of driving around in an un-air conditioned vehicle.

I finally order the $82 fan assembly from Auto Zone. Easier to install, but I didn’t need all of the other crap with it.

“It will be in by noon tomorrow.”

“That’s great. I’ll pick it up after work.”

I call at noon. The part isn’t in.

I call at two, still not there.

I call at four and again at six and the fucking part is still not there. This is where I demand to know why.

“It’s not ALL Fed-Ex’s fault. The manufacturer wasn’t shipping Friday because of the holiday.”

“Well fuck, that sucks, dude.”

“We’re sorry. It should be in Wednesday.”

Wednesday? WEDNESDAY?!? That’s four more days of living without conditioned air. It needs conditioning!

Monday was the Fourth of July so I had to wait until Tuesday to begin my reign of terror on the manufacturer. I was not going to stop until someone cried, I didn’t much care who as long as it wasn’t me.

I call Dorman Auto and ask them if they were open on Friday. They were. Then I ask them why they weren’t shipping if they were open.

“Ma’am, we were shipping. As long as we received your order by 4:30pm EST, it would have arrived on Saturday.”

I ordered it at 1:20pm EST.

“So, why wasn’t it shipped? I guess I need to call Auto Zone and kick someone’s ass there.”

“I guess so.”

I call Auto Zone back.

“Dorman said they were open and shipping until almost 5:00pm on Friday, so why isn’t my part here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, CHARVIS, when did you send them the order?”

“It was supposed to go out immediately.”

“Okay then. I’ll call them back and see when they received it.”

They couldn’t tell me without a PO number and the one on my receipt didn’t match anything in their files. I was told to get Auto Zone’s PO number and then call back to find out.

“Auto Zone, this is Charvis, how can I help you?”

“CHARVIS, this is condenser fan assembly here. I need your PO number.”

“Well, let me see if the part is here.”

“I didn’t ask for that, I just want your PO number,”

“Our manager says that Fed-Ex didn’t run on Saturday because of the holiday.”
“That’s funny, CHARVIS. He told me that Fed-Ex was delivering twice that day.”

“Well, they didn’t.

“CHARVIS, how exactly does Fed-Ex deliver two separate times when they’re not running?”

“That’s just what the manager told me, so they didn’t. We found your part.”

“You… Excuse me? You found my part? The part that wasn’t delivered on Saturday?”

“Yeah, it was under the wrong name.”

“CHARVIS, my receipt has the name under which it was ordered. You might want to call that person and tell them that you’re about to give their part away.”

“Well, it’s yours.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Being in the middle of a bitch fit of epic proportions, I call Fed-Ex.

“Were you guys running on Saturday?”

“Yes, we sure were. We don’t run on Sundays and holidays, but we were open on Saturday.”

“Good to know. Did you deliver to this address?”

“We’re just the retail location, so we don’t have that info. I can give you the main office number, but they might not be able to tell you.”

I called. They did. They delivered two packages to that address on that day. Two packages on a day when they weren’t operating. That’s dedication, y’all.

I’m pissed. I am pissed the fuck off. You had my part the whole fucking time and now you’re lying to me to cover your ass. Also, CHARVIS is the dumbest fucking name I’ve ever heard. It matched the person it belonged to.

I roll up in Auto Zone spitting fire, but calmly. You can’t alert your prey that you’re about to destroy it. The first person I see is CHARVIS who sees something in my eyes that frightens him. He goes to get my part and I stare him down. When he brings it back to ring it out, I demand to speak to the manager and he starts to stutter.

When manager Bill comes over, so does his handy assistant Kyle, the one that ordered that part.
“Why did this come in under a different name?”

Kyle: “Yeah, haha, I kind of messed up on that order.”

Do you see me smiling? Do you? I’m about ready to rip your fucking balls off and cram them down your throat. This isn’t a happy amusing time for me, dick wad.

I pull the manager aside and then point out every single lie he and his employees had told me over the last few days.

“Fed-Ex didn’t deliver here on Saturday.”

“Well, then I guess their records are wrong because they have it down that they delivered two separate packages here. Now, I’m not saying you’re lying, Bill, but…”

“No, no, their records are probably right. I didn’t see Fed-Ex that day.”

Mother fucker, who runs this store? For all you know the “guys in the back” could be dealing un-cut Colombian coke back there.

“Now, Bill, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I don’t have a dick, would it?”

“What? NO! No, I mean half of our employees are women!”

“I’ve never seen them…”

“Uh… uh…”

I did not get the refund I had set my heart on because I couldn’t stand dealing with this jackass while his nervous employees stared at us with scared looks on their faces.

I take my part and start to walk out of the store only to be stopped by Bill.

“Are you sure that you need that part?”

“What. Did. You. Just. Say?”

“Are you sure that that’s the right part? I mean, I’d check the relays and wiring and freon before I ordered that.”

Are you fucking kidding me? You assure me that you’re not treating me like an idiot because of my tits and then you have the fucking nerve to imply that I don’t know what’s wrong with my own car?

“Seriously? I checked all of that shit before I ordered the $82 part filled with parts I didn’t actually need and that you had the whole time. I hope you never procreate.”

The part was installed and worked beautifully. However, the air is still blowing out at just slightly cooler than the surface of the sun, but only when the car is in motion.

Then the transmission went out. No, let me clarify, the one part of the transmission that wasn’t under warranty went out and the dealership was literally the only place that could fix it because my car is a giant piece of shit and I would make mad, passionate love to the first person that set it the fuck on fire.

Deep breath.

Let it out.

Nervous breakdown is officially over.

I know I promised to deliver in small, easily digestible pieces, but once I get started… People needed to know about CHARVIS. I even say his name in all caps when speaking of him.

I usually call people Skippy or Sparky when I’m irritated with them and asserting my dominance, but I think that they’ll forevermore be known as CHARVIS.*

Tune in next time for: And That’s When He Told Me He Sold Crack…

*You’ll also be able to tell that you’re irritating the fuck out of me if I keep using your name repeatedly while addressing you.

Also, if you’re name is CHARVIS, I apologize… but seriously, you’re name isn’t great.


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