Being blonde and female, I should have known better than to take my Fiat to a main dealer to get it serviced.
It’s not that I’m stupid, per se. It’s just that main dealers have an invisible automatic scanning system so that, when a blonde woman walks through the door, an alarm goes off inside the service centre, a red light starts flashing, a till ringing sound reverberates throughout the workshop, and greasy mechanics stand ready with their spanners and clipboards bearing long checklists of mechanical failings.
I always swear I will never do it again, but like most women I’m a stickler for doing things by the book. So when the Panda ‘service’ light lit up I could not resist the temptation to take it to a main dealer instead of a garage under the arches, in order to ensure that I got one of those official stamps in my service book.
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