The follow-up to my U-Haul adventures (prequel in the post before last)...
Even though the truck was a filthy, old piece of crap with a frown on it's face, it rocketed me to the Bay area in a mere five hours. It would have been four and a half without the traffic jam for unknown reasons in the middle of nowhere. Don't judge a truck by it's cover is my new motto. The drive was a breeze compared to the two hours of unloading I did by myself before the volunteer helper showed up to assist with the heavy lifting.
It was a little after 7PM by the time everything was unloaded and I could drop the truck off at the Berkeley U-Haul lot. I was happy the place would be closed so I could leave the truck, put the key in the drop-box and not have to make human contact. Or so I thought. Turns out the place was open 'til eight.
The yard guy checks in the truck and hands me the paperwork. I was about to walk off the lot until he says I have to take it into the office to have it processed. Damn. I'm knackered. I just want to get some food and some sleep. I proceed to the office. Three people behind the counter are engaged in an argument with a customer who pleads with them to waive his late return fee because it wasn't his fault that the keys were locked in the truck since the doors locked on their own when he got out of the truck. Good luck with that one, Buddy. Nope...it didn't fly. A fourth guy is perched on the back counter doing and saying absolutely nothing.
Then it's my turn. The head tough chick grabs the paper from my hand and begins pecking her keyboard.
"We're all set then? I can go?" I ask nicely.
"I'm charging you for the gas." She doesn't even look my way.
"Excuse me? I brought it back with more gas than I got it with."
"You brought it in with an eighth. You got it with a quarter."
"No. I got it empty."
"Contract says a quarter."
"I never got a contract."
"I don't need your contract. It's right here. And it says a quarter."
"It was empty when I picked it up. I wasn't given a contract and I called customer service and they made note of the gas."
"I'm charging your card."
"You can't do that! I'm not authorizing you to charge my card!"
"I don't need your authorization."
Under my breath, "Are you always this snotty?"
Not under my breath, "You need to call customer service. They'll tell you."
"I go by what the contract says."
"How much are you charging my card?"
"$30 service charge and $4 a gallon."
Blood begins to boil. I pull out my cell phone.
"If I call customer service will you listen to them? They know the truck was empty."
"You can call whoever you want. I'm charging your card."
Under my breath, "You are a fucking evil bitch-ho."
Ten minutes on hold listening to, "Thank you for calling U-Haul. All of our agents are currently helping other customers. Please stay on the line for the next available agent."
It's closing in on eight o'clock. Evil bitch-ho and the other two lock up the shop. With me in it. The fourth guy remains on his perch, looking at me as if to say, "You picked the wrong evil bitch-ho, Miss Wonderbread." Another five minutes on hold. I gotta get out of here before the U-Haul Gang forces me to their filthy floor and strip me of whatever assets I have left.
"They're not answering and I have to be somewhere. If they call you will you credit the gas charge?"
"I go by the contract."
"What is your name?" Under my breath, "Cause I'm going to report your rude fat ass to whoever will listen."
As I walk out the door, I can't hold back. I turn toward the evil bitch-ho. "Princess? You have got to be kidding."
Under my breath, "I bet your momma rues the day."
Several days and many arguments with the company later, I get a call from Christine. I bet she's that special person U-Haul employs to handle the really pissed off customers. The ones who make the endless phone calls, screaming at any idiot who dares to pick up the phone. Why do I bet that? Cuase when I pick up the phone her sweet, soothing baby voice says, "I'm so, so sorry for all the problems you've had with our company."
"As a matter of fact, I checked with the woman who rented the truck to you and she backed up every word you said. I can't tell you how sorry we are that you had a bad experience with us. I'm crediting the $50 they charged your card for the gas and I am also sending you $40 in coupons that you can redeem at any of our stores for anything you want."
"Really? Thank you. But what about Princess?" Under my breath, "The evil bitch-ho who completely ruined my life."
"Don't worry. I'm sending a copy of my report, which includes everything you've told us, to the regional office in Berkeley. They'll take care of her."
Under my breath, "I hope they burn the evil bitch-ho at the stake."
Not under my breath, "That's good. Thank you. You're really good at your job."
Aaah...Justice. It's the American way.