I wasted the morning.  The entire morning.  Four hours–gone, never to be seen or lived again.

A few weeks ago, I noticed a little blurring on the back window of my car but this isn’t a story about the white car.  It’s about that wasted morning.   Because I’m always willing to leave the car or an appliance time to heal themselves, I ignored it.  Two weeks ago, I realized there were bubbles around the defroster wires but I could still see through it.  What are a few bubbles?  I could almost think of them as decorative.   But last week, the number had doubled, then tripled and the windshield wasn’t going to get better by itself.  I called the dealer and set up an appointment for Wednesday, explaining to the man who set the appointment that I had bubbles across the back window.

Many of you may know what the problem was.  I didn’t.  That’s why I called the dealer.   When I took it in, the customer service guy looked at the window and said, “That’s your glass tint.”   I had no idea what he meant.   In a voice dripping with “what-a-stupid-woman-you-are” he said, “The bubbles are in the tint.”   It was as if he were speaking a different language.  Did I have tinted windows?   And, if I did, isn’t tint something that’s brushed on?     Seems not.  Seems as if I am really stupid because everyone knows this.   As I was attempting to sort this out, the manager grabbed me, explaining this employee sometimes speaks too harshly as he escorted me into his office.  He explained well but said that, because this is a used car, the tint wasn’t under warranty.    Hey, if that’s the rule, I’m okay with that.

However, because everyone in the world knows all about tinted glass, I asked the manager, “Why didn’t they tell me this when I called?”   The manager answered, “Maybe you didn’t describe it well.”  Then he said and I am NOT making this up, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   Yes, he said, “He couldn’t see the window over the phone.”   He apologized after losing a few layers of skin. I think I got over to him that this had been a rude and condescending comment.   Then he called the company that does their tinting, set up an immediate appointment, and got me directions there, all done very politely. 

The place was hard to find, taking me two trips down the frontage roads of I-35.   After I found it and handed my keys over, I settled in the waiting room.  After five minutes, a man came in.  I asked, “This will cost about $100?”  He said, “Yes.”  After a pause he added, “We don’t have a credit-card hook up yet because we just opened.  You’ll need cash.”    I never carry more than forty dollars with me.   Carrying a hundred dollars around would terrify me both because I’m a coward and I’m cheap.   And I lose things really easily.   I leaped to my feet–those of you who know me realize this was not a fast leap–and said, “Stop.  I don’t have that much money.”   Of course they don’t take checks so the man said, “Don’t worry.  We’ll just charge it to the dealership.”    Sadly, I have a deep vein of honesty.  George always said I was a twit.  I do things like give too much change back.     Nothing to do but go back home.

So, at 12:30, four hours after I left the house, I returned still with bubbles in the back window.   I took a nap.  But I do have one questions:  Does everyone out there know about bubbles in the tinted windows?