The donut wheel on my Subaru made the streets of Harlem and the Bronx easy to handle as we made our way to the nearest Sears Automotive this afternoon.
Only one windshield watcher approached and tried to wash my car. I said no. With that he banged his fist on my door window, and yelled, "F--K You, suck my C--K" and then walked away. I was totally expressionless.
When we arrived at Sears Automotive, we were greeted by The Bronx Angel who gave us supreme customer service and personal attentiveness. First, she inspected our flat tire, determining it hadn't been slashed (the side facing the engine was ripped by one of Galvino's driving feats over a dividing curb). My resolve not to dwell on the possibility of the slash as a form of vengeance payed off.
Then Caroline contacted Sears in Massachusetts and Illinois (the last two places were I purchased tires) to find out if my tire was under warranty. It turns out that 18 months earlier, a Ghanaian sales man who had been brimming with joy over Ghana's advancement in the World Cup had added the coverage unbeknown to me when I last purchased tires.
Caroline wasn't driven to turn an unnecessary profit. She said that she believed in Karma and that we reap what we sow. The money would come back to her in other ways eventually.
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