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Pet hate: When you finally get around to taking your car in for a service and you use the guy your dad recommended to you and you drop it off at 8am and you’re assured by the woman at the counter that it will be ready by 3pm when you have to work but when you ring at 2pm to check on it the woman can’t seem to remember who you are or where your car is and finally informs you that they haven’t even started working on it yet and do you think you’ll be able to organise another ride to work, love?

So you get your friend to drop you off and you work and the next day you go and pick up your car which has finally been serviced, at a cost that incidentally is higher than what you were originally quoted, sorry about that love, but you are a woman, so this is naturally to be expected when you do anything car related without taking a hunky man in with you, and you drive it around for a week and then when you take it to be washed in one of those do-it-yourself outfits you realise as you’re scrubbing the bird crap off the back windscreen that they’ve had THE NERVE to place a sticker advertising their business on the back of your car.

Fuckers.

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