One day this bitchy, spoiled teenager brings her piece of shit BMW (this was clearly a rust bucket from before the time she had been a twinkle in daddy's eyes) into the shop. She says she doesn't know what's wrong and that it goes through gas really fast.
I ask for her keys to pull it into the shop and on the lift, she obviously was confused and annoyed by this. (Having no idea what mechanics do, I guess she thought we would bibbity bobbity boo it without touching her precious car with our filthy peon peasant fingers?) I get in, she lets out more annoyed looks. (ZOMG I'm in her car! It will take forever to get the blue collar stench out of her obviously very old car!)
The owner is off working on another car, so I put this in the computer myself. I pull it into a separate bay where it's me and one other guy. We lift it up.
First, there was a quarter sized hole in the gas tank, second the transmission was falling off, since it had only one bolt in it, and third, the oil tank was leaking too.
We tell her what's going on, tell her all the things that need to be done, and say that we can get to work if that's what she wants. It is. She signs for us to get started. Now up until now she's been huffing and puffing and annoyed, but it's mild stuff. What comes next is when she becomes the full blown bitch from hell.
The bitch blonde comes around the corner and into the bay. She is furious! "What the fuck is taking so long!? Why the fuck is everything so dirty?! Why the fuck are you ripping everything off my car!?"
Let's call the other guy I'm with Fred.
Fred asks the bitch to, ever so kindly, walk back to the waiting area. She gets even more furious. She walks into the bay and under the car, then she hits her head on the tire, loudly blaming us for her stupidity. She looks at what we're doing.
"What the hell are you doing? That's not what you need to do!"
I reminded her that she has a hole in the gas tank, it's too rusty to fix and we'll need a new one. The transmission needs new bolts, as the others were blown off, and the oil tank will need to be replaced. We know what we're doing, and she authorized us to do this.
She goes off on a rampage. "My dad is going to kill me! Don't do anything! Put everything back in!"
She starts tearing the shop apart, throwing the tools everywhere. We eventually stop her and calm her down. We have already started working on her car, as she asked us to. She has two choices: she can go home and we can keep the car overnight and fix the things that need fixing, or we can put it all back and charge her for the labor that we have already begun under her own authorization.
She refuses to go home in the most bitchly way possible. She will not go home, and she will not come back tomorrow. We will fix it, and we will fix it now!
Then she starts watching over our shoulders as we work, refusing to leave our work area despite several polite requests and finally a full blown order to get her pert little bottom out of our work station and to let us work. She refuses, and goes into a rant over rust, dirt and other filth that has fallen into her, ever so important, bitch hair. Every move we make, "that's not what you do," "don't do that," and we tell her we need to fix the transmission and patch the oil tank and wait for the gas tank that we requested. (We were actually able to find a gas tank that would fit and--hallelujah-- they would bring it to us in just a bit.)
She gives us looks like we're the bad guys.
The owner tells her she can wait in the waiting room or go home. Those are her choices, and if she doesn't like either one, we can have the police forcibly remove her from what is really an employee's only area of the shop. She huffs, puffs, and flounces into the waiting area to pout with a lower lip stuck out so far it was mistaken for a bean bag by random passers bye.
The owner tugs me into a side room and we have a long conversation over the details of the situation. When I'm finished, he blows out a breath and tells me, "Okay, I can see that she authorized the repairs. Keep going if you feel like you can. Stop if we can't get the parts. She cannot have her car until she pays, and if that means her little rabbit tail has to hippity hop home in a taxi, that's what she's going to do. Dot your I's, cross your T's and make damn sure that you don't do a damn thing more than what you've told her the car needed and that she has signed for. We're in a case of 'no good deed goes unpunished.' You should have refused to do another damn thing to that car the instant she hit her head on the tire, but since we're this far, we might as well go whole hog."
The gas tank arrives and we put it on. It's now two hours after closing time... with the bitch pressed against the windowed door to the shop. We lower it, and hand her the bill.
This is when I lost it. I just couldn't take anymore. I picked up the crumpled bill and held it up. "Little princess, you fucking signed the agreement to have the work done. You fucking agreed on paper that you would pay for everything. Now if you didn't fucking read the fucking print, that's your own fucking fault. If we have to take your entitled little bitch ass to court, I guarantee you this will get really, REALLY fucking expensive for you. I've dealt with your whiny-bitch attitude all day and will fully enjoy watching the court burn your witchy ass at the stake!"
I was not quiet. In fact, I was so loud the owner could hear it from the garage and he popped his head through the door to see the spectacle. I expected to smell popcorn and hear him eating the stuff.
I took the keys out of the car and dangled them in front of her face. "You pay right fucking now, or I won't be releasing the car to you."
I yell over her, "YES! Call your precious Daddy Dearest. And when he shows up, I'll show him where you signed on the fucking dotted line! This will hold up in court. DO it! Go on! Call him on that little phone that daddy dearest paid for!"
She spins around, spots the owner and complains about the way I was treating her. A part of me figured I was about to be jobless, but the majority of me gave zero fucks at that time.
There are no words to describe, in detail, the thrill of maniacal glee that went through me when the boss turned his back to the bitch and told her that he was not the "complaint department." He further went on to tell her that he did indeed hear that I was rude, and that frankly he was amazed that I held out as long as I had. He told her with a smile that we had her address on the paperwork and she could pay now, or pay later, but she wasn't getting her car back until she did.
There was nothing for a week, then we get a call. Daddy Dearest is highly confused to find a bill from our shop in the mail. Where had it come from? He was under the impression that her car had been stolen from a parking lot and he had to pick his sobbing daughter up at the mall across the street.
I actually had to politely put him on hold and have the owner pick up Line 1 to discuss the matter with Daddy Dearest.... then burst out into laughter so hard that I cramped every abdominal muscle I had.
There was a lot of discussion and showing of paperwork. Daddy Dearest came down himself to confirm that it was the car, and that it was his daughter's signature on the paperwork. Thunderclouds are gathering on Daddy Dearest's forehead.
Long story short (too late!) the car was a junker she had bought, and had been warned that if she bought it against Daddy Dearest's advice, she would have to pay for any repairs out of her pocket. This was when she had gotten the brilliant idea to blame the mechanic shop and (somehow) make a ton of money off that piece of shit rust bucket to buy something better with the boatloads of cash she would surely win. (Ouch! I saw that facepalm y'all just did. That looked like it hurt!) When she had realized that her plan failed and that the car was as good as gone without cash, her second brilliant plan was to claim that it was stolen so that it would all just go away... forgetting that her home address was on the paperwork we were in possession of. (Shit, somebody call an ambulance, I think someone just facepalmed themselves unconscious!)
Anyway Daddy Dearest paid for the repairs, them smilingly assured us that she would be working her little ass off to pay Daddy Dearest back for the work that he'd had to shell money out for.