I took my car for routine service to my local dealership yesterday. I like the dealership. The service reps are courteous, the work always seems to be done efficiently and there is a nice waiting room if you have to hang out while the work is being done.
Coffee and Danish are free, and there is shuttle service if you need to go home, or want to hang at the mall.
However there is a snake in every Eden, and the snake in this Eden is a television set tuned in to a news channel where teams of babbling monkeys breathlessly repeat the same five stories over and over and over.
The twenty or twenty-five people waiting for their cars never pay any attention to this infernal irritation. In act they seem to be doing their very best to ignore it. I try my very best to ignore it but it’s like a Chinese water torture. You can’t ignore it; it slowly drills its way into the lower reaches of your consciousness, turning you into a clockwork orange.
Why do businesses think this is a customer service? None of the customers seem to give a rat’s patootie for this irritating “service.” We’d all be better off without it. Geez, we’d all be better off with Muzak.