Uncle Bobbys Spills the Beans: Surviving the Slow Drip Dance of an Oil Change
Dear Uncle Bobby, Why does it take so long to get a simple oil change? I made an appointment, I showed up on time, and I’m still sitting in the lobby watching 90-minute-old local news while they try to upsell me on a new cabin filter. Is this just how it works?
Laughing from the Lobby,
Just Here for an Oil Change
Ah yes, Oil Change, you sweet time-blind optimist. You thought you were going to zip in and out like this was a NASCAR pit stop. Bless your heart. No sir—you’ve entered the Slow Drip Zone, where time stands still and the only thing getting serviced is your will to live.
Here’s how it works:
- Step 1: You book an appointment, thinking it means something. It doesn’t. That’s just their way of reserving your place in line to wait behind seven walk-ins and a guy who came in for “a rattle” and left without a transmission.
- Step 2: You check in. They nod solemnly, take your keys, and vanish into the abyss. That’s the last time you’ll feel in control of your own life today.
- Step 3: You sit. And sit. And sit. They offer you stale coffee, a chair from 1987, and a TV playing last week’s weather report. You’ll start to question if the oil change was just a metaphor.
And right when you think they’re done? Nope. That clipboard comes out and here it comes:
- “Your air filter looks... dusty.”
- “We noticed your tires have... tread.”
- “Would you like to replace your wiper blades? They’re emotionally fatigued.”
Suddenly your $49 oil change turns into a $237 wellness package for your Corolla.
Uncle Bobby’s advice?
Bring snacks. Bring a book. Bring a resignation letter for when they find a mystery leak and recommend "monitoring it indefinitely."
Or better yet, just buy one of those jugs of motor oil and splash it in the general direction of your engine while whispering “good enough.”
Because at the end of the day, Oil Change, you didn’t come for service—you came for humility. And that, they’ll provide free of charge.
– Uncle Bobby