Midas. . . where everything they touch turns to you know what
Apr 27 '01
The Bottom Line Midas is not for the faint of heart. Mechanics will go out of their way to rip off female customers. Don't fall for their scare tactics!
Once upon a time, my 4 year old Ford Tempo began making horrible sounds. It roared. It clanked. It belched. Though I spoke to it sweetly and offered it premium gasoline and the super wax with tire dressing, it could not be silenced.
Well, not without a cash injection, delivered skillfully by the cheery mechanics at Midas. A new muffler, exhaust pipe, and a few clamps later (not to mention $200) I drove away quietly with a once-more well-behaved sedan and a spiffy gold folder that used words like "lifetime warranty" and "commitment" and all sorts of terms that appealed to my female heart. I was smitten, and lived happily ever after, or as happily as possible, considering the fact I was driving a Tempo.
So you can imagine my chagrin earlier this month when the car (with only another 13,000 miles on it in the last few years) began roaring like an undignified beast once more. I turned to my handsome prince (hubby) and asked his advice. "Muffler," he said.
Imagine his surprise when I calmly pulled that now dusty gold folder from my trunk and waved the warranty in the air like a victory flag. Sure enough, Midas would replace that muffler free, including labor, as long as I owned the car.
The very next afternoon, we brought the growling beast to Midas, unfurled the paperwork, and left the car. They promised to call with an estimate in the morning. Hubby warned me that they would add something to the bill to cover the cost of their labor, but I expected that.
Good thing, too. Otherwise I might've fainted when I got that call.
"Uh, Mrs. Yaeger? You need a muffler. That's covered. You need an exhaust pipe, which with labor is another $100. Throw in a few clamps, $3.99 each, oil change, and catalytic converter, and you're, uh--how long do you want to keep the car?"
Whoa! I spoke up quickly, because despite the warm April weather the snow was falling hard.
"Here's the thing, ma'm, your catalytic converter is rotted and you cannot attach the muffler without it, and factory parts are extremely expensive. But I can put on a universal part for $189 plus labor--just under $300."
Whoa! This time, I had a chance to speak. "No oil change," I boomed.
"Oh but that's very important," he insisted.
"Just had one two weeks ago," I said. "Don't need it."
"Yes you do," he said, "you don't have a sticker."
"No oil change," I repeated. "Got that?"
He let me win that battle, but he was going for the kill. We talked a bit more about the catalytic converter, and how there was no other solution and my car could not be quieted, driven, or sold without the repair. I told him I'd call him back after I talked to my husband.
Sadly, the prince was testing his young subjects on the fundamentals of math, and could not be disturbed. So I did the next best thing: I looked up catalytic converters on the web, learned how they work, and what they do when they're feeling naughty. Mine did not meet any of the criteria for problems.
Next, I called my mechanic at Pep Boys and begged for his mercy. I explained the situation, promised never to stray from him again (but I had a warranty!), and asked his advice--as well as his price. He said yes on the muffler and exhaust pipe, and to have someone else check the catalytic converter if I could drive the car. He also said that he'd have to charge me more for the job, and didn't know when he could get the parts.
Not what I wanted to hear, really, but it was the truth.
Armed with that, I steeled myself and called Midas back. I asked more questions. I snorted and scratched my armpits. I thought about spitting, but it wouldn't add to the feng shui of my Manhattan office. "Go over it again," I told him.
He did, once again throwing in the oil change "because you really need it." And once again, I took it back out, and insisted he come up with alternatives for lowering the price on the converter repair. Finally, I sighed, admitted he'd won the war, and told him to fix it.
Ten minutes later, the prince called. When he heard the tale, the prince roared louder than the car. He hung up and called Midas. Got the same guy, who suddenly stopped pushing the oil change. Hmmm, I guess guys don't need them as often as women, huh?
Not only that. . . Midas told the prince it was only the neck of the catalytic converter that was rotted, and that otherwise it was intact and working fine. And, if my husband didn't mind, they could probably weld something on to replace the rotted part. Might not last forever, but it would beat having to replace the whole thing.
If that wasn't enough, he offered the prince a much better deal (what we chicks call the testosterone discount), they traded manly barbs, and the work commenced.
I spent the day simmering. When we returned to Midas that afternoon, my humble chariot was waiting in the parking lot. The prince asked for an itemized bill. First thing we saw: the oil change. "Oh, we didn't do that," Midas Man said. But they left it on the bill.
Second problem: a labor charge for the muffler. "Our warranty includes labor," we said. "Not any more," cried Midas Man, who cringed and took the charge off when we showed him the fine print on our warranty. I glared and sighed while the prince scrutinized the rest of the bill. I spit out the correct total: $178.50, which was a far cry from the $450+ old Midas had insisted on earlier that morning.
We took our new, non-labor-included warranty, and our old, now quieter Tempo, and we drove away, secure in the knowledge that we could live happily ever after, just as soon as we sell the car.
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Epinions.com ID:
pbyaeger
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Member: Pamela Yaeger
Location: Long Island, NY
Reviews written: 157
Trusted by: 158 members
About Me:
I whine, therefore I am.
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