Customer Disservice

One thing I really miss from the States is customer service. The whole concept of fast food escapes the people of the Virgin Islands and patience is your only friend while standing in line at that grocery store.

Island time, baby.

I haven't been yet (and I don't plan to visit) the DMV here. I heard the ladies behind the desk put desperate patrons on hold so they can answer their iPhone and talk with their girlfriends about the political crisis in Egypt.

Sarcasm is fun but let's go straight to my rant.

The back window on my Ford Explorer has been disconnected from my whip for almost a month now. It's no big deal, really. The two little hinges that connect the window wore down and the actual window is fine. In the States, it could be repaired in the time it takes to wait for a Big Mac in the drive-thru.

So I've had hilarious plastic garbage bags covering the back window so A) the dogs don't jump out the window and B) the rain doesn't make the inside of my car moldy. I've already gone through two rolls of duct tape.

It looks very ghetto. I snapped this shot during a day trip to St. John...

Does it give me local street credit? It surely does not. I have taken my whip to the Ford dealership on St. Thomas three separate times, yet garbage bags still dance in the wind while I drive and my buddies still bust my balls.

Let me come out and put it this way (just in case some helpless soul searched the dealership on google or something and innocently clicked on the blog): METRO FORD DEALERSHIP on ST. THOMAS is the ABSOLUTE WORST PLACE EVER!

Regardless of what the job is, don't take your automobile there. Trust me, it's the worst place ever and it's only because pure morons are running the operation. They have allegedly sent away for the parts my car needed two times now. Last week, they said the parts were in so we scheduled an appointment to fix the car. That was last Monday. It took them eight days to find room in their schedule for me. I showed up before they opened this morning -- they were 35 minutes late -- and sat in their waiting room for 95 minutes.

STUPID LADY: "Mr. Gray, I'm sorry but we don't have the parts. At least, that's what the technician is telling me."

IRRATE CONSUMER: "Wait a second, this has been going on for a month now. Why did you schedule an appointment if you don't have the parts? Why are you messing with my emotions?"

SL: "I don't know what to say. The last shipment comes in at 4 p.m. You can call back then."

IC: "On the slim chance that the right parts will arrive today?"

SL: "I guess you can call Dan -- he comes back tomorrow."

IC: "That's even better, let's pawn this off on someone else. Are you reading from the playbook for morons?"

SL: "We apologize again. I know this has been an inconvenience."

IC: "Do I at least get a free bowl of soup?"

SL: "What? I don't understand."

IC: "Nevermind."

The only thing I can do now is call Ford myself, ask them to mail the parts and fix the window myself.

I have zero car skills so I will enlist my buddy, Jerry, otherwise known as The Wolverine, to help me. He's the same guy that re-charged my A/C unit and he also cooks a mean pork chop.

Life of luxury

I freaking love my car and that's why I shelled out close $1,700 to ship that bad boy to the Virgin Islands with me. In retrospect, it was not a good idea because it was costly, it came three weeks later than it was supposed to and the rental car swindler pointed out a phantom dent in the rear bumper that cost me an additional $525.

"Sorry sir, we have to go with the appraisal from our auto mechanic," the jackass told me.

"Yeah, but $525? Give me a hammer and 15 minutes and I'll make it right," I barked back.

He wasn't interested in my antics and had no mercy on my shrinking wallet.

But it's all good. Now I have one of the best cars on island. Gonna sell her for big bucks when ever I decide to leave this rock, too.

The only blemish on this gorgeous 2002 Ford Explorer Sport was that for years, I never had air conditioning. After a while, I learned to live with it. The window stayed down, a slight breeze was essential and my left forearm snagged plenty of sun rays.

But moving to the tropics without A/C in the car can be ruthless. Even if my commute to work is a whopping 2 minutes and 13 seconds (Yes, I timed it yesterday), it doesn't matter.

I wear a collar shirt to work everyday and occasionally I put on some khaki slacks. Big emphasis on the word occasionally. But still, I find myself wiping sweat off my forehead while walking into work and trying to prevent my shirt from sticking to my moist torso. Now this sounds like a sleazy novel.

Have you ever fell victim to post-shower sweat? It's the worst.

Well, those days are now over thanks to my amigo, Jerry. Around these parts, he's famously known as Wolverine.

Jerry wanted to borrow the extravagant Explorer the other day because he had hosted two couples from California who were docked on a cruise ship and we're on St. Thomas for about 10 hours of mischief.

Being the fabulous friend that I am, I obliged. He traded me up with his truck -- I don't recall the make or model -- but it was your classic island car. Everyone's got one. A couple dings here or there and sand permanently ingrained into the decaying upholstery.

But being the great friend he is, Jerry one-upped me. When he came to swap automobiles, he brought along two little mystery canisters, popped the hood and ended my air-conditioning hex.

Apparently, the system just needed to be charged so for the last day or so, I've been cruising St. Thomas in my own personal refrigerator. Max A/C dialed up and each fan pushed to the limit.

I may run out of gas tomorrow but that's why we got soldiers wandering around the dessert, right? Ouch. That was very uncalled for and I apologize.

Big ups to my cousin, Jeff Gray, a West Point graduate, who is currently kicking ass and taking names in Afghanistan.

And to think, I've been sitting here writing for the last 10 minutes with air conditioning on my mind...