I arrive at a Land Rover dealership, at about 10 minutes to 6.

[May 10th, 2006] I arrive at a Land Rover dealership, at about 10 minutes to 6. Instead of being pleased to see me on a Friday at rush hour, my passenger subjects me to a diatribe about how he had placed the call for 5:45, so I was therefore late, which is just a terrible level of customer service.

But this perfidy is nothing compared with that apparently committed by the dealership. He shouldn't have even had to call me at all, because the dealer's shuttle service should have been available to take him home to Forest Heights, except it would seem that since it's so close to closing time they didn't want to send the shuttle out only to have to wait around another hour to be able to close. "And in the world I come from, that is just wrong, I mean to promise that...."

"I think the world you come from is a little too fucking privileged for your own good," I snap, finally.

"Excuse me?!"

"You're complaining about the lack of a complimentary service, a complete luxury, and treating this privilege like it's a god-given right that's been taken away from you. Don't you hear yourself? Jesus." I wasn't too concerned about my tip. I'd clearly already blown that by having the temerity to arrive four minutes after the scheduled pickup time. I was expecting a snotty retort from anyone this entitled. However, dead silence in the back seat. "Still alive back there?" "Yes. I'm just thinking about what you said." Good.