Les Schwab in three cities and two states.

The first time (after which I vowed never to go back) happened when I was 18. Something had happened to my car, and I had zero brakes. I managed to limp it to Les Schwab using the handbrake, explained the situation, and they told me they understood. It would be a couple of hours, so I walked to work.

A few hours later, I got a call from someone there saying they needed to replace X, Y, and Z. It would be about $500, which was a fortune for teenage me, but I needed it working, so I agreed to the repairs over the phone. Another couple of hours passed, and I got what I thought was the “your car’s ready” call. Instead…

They told me there’d been an accident at the shop, but not to worry everyone was OK. My car, however, had suffered some “light” damage. Apparently, it had been up on a lift during a shift change, and someone who hadn’t been told about the brake situation decided to bring it down. While doing so, they had a “minor” collision with a workbench. And a tire balancer. And a brake lathe. And the fucking building itself. Allegedly at 5 MPH.

I walked back over after work to deal with it. My “car” was a 1996 full-size Mitsubishi Montero/Pajero. Pretty shitty engine, but otherwise a tank with steel bumpers. I was once rear-ended in it and couldn’t find any damage to my car, but the other guy’s was trashed.

The Montero I saw at Les Schwab looked like it had been dropped face-first onto the top edge of a K-rail. The front bumper had gone from 180 degrees to about 100. Radiator punctured, coolant everywhere. Whoever was driving got tossed hard since my turn signal stalk was snapped off and dangling by a wire.

I went into the office to talk about next steps. I figured this was pretty cut and dry, so I asked if they’d be covering a rental while they sorted it out. The store manager told me to hold up: no compensation would be authorized until their legal department and insurance determined who was at fault.

…what do you mean, “who’s at fault?” I was a mile away at work. You had my car. For a brake job. And one of your guys crashed it. Apparently, it “isn’t that simple.”

At that point I called my dad because it was starting to spiral. While I was on the phone explaining how this couldn’t get any more fucked, the manager comes back out and hands me paperwork. I asked what it was. He told me it was an invoice. For the brake job.

Are you fucking kidding me? He explained that since I signed the initial work order, they did the repair, and I was obligated to pay for it. I relayed all of this to my dad on the phone and he said, “I’m on my way.”

That was the first time I ever heard someone say, “you’ll be hearing from my attorney,” in real life.

That was also the last time I saw the Montero. Apparently it was hauled to our mechanic and parted out or something.

Never again.

Fast-forward about 10 years later...

I was driving back to Reno from the Bay Area and the weather was getting weird. I was in a 2WD rental because my car was at the paint shop, and wasn’t sure if there’d be chain control on the hill. I figured I should pick up some cables, but unfortunately, Les Schwab was the only place I saw that had them.

Against my better judgment, I thought: this isn’t a repair it’s just a simple purchase. How could they fuck that up?

I asked the guy at the counter about returns, since I probably wouldn’t need them. I explained that I was just going over the hill, there was a good chance I wouldn’t use them, and asked if I could return them to a Reno location. He assured me that was absolutely fine.

I bought the cables and headed out.

Roads were clear, maybe a few flurries, but no chain control. I cruised into Reno and figured I’d stop by Les Schwab right away so I wouldn’t forget. I walked in with the cables and a receipt that was not even two hours old, and the guy behind the counter told me I couldn’t return them until April.

This was September.

I asked why April. He said, “Well, you might need them this winter.”

Dude. That isn’t even my car.

Eventually, an exception was made. But holy shit.