Yesterday I had the unfortunate task of having my tires checked at your facility. I was hoping you could fix my two slow leaks and send me on my way. Instead, I was informed that my tires were completely bald, safety hazards, and my struts (whatever those are) were ruined. Here's the thing: When you're reporting bad news to someone, try not to use the phrase, "I've got good news and good news" and then tell the person that they need four new tires. THIS IS NOT GOOD NEWS, you douchebag. This is terrible, awful, distressing news, and your little jokes were not funny and not cute. For a second there, I actually thought you were able to fix my tires and everything was fine. But, no. I realize you think the fact that you had my tires in stock was good news, but really, I don't care. I was still annoyed by you tricking me into thinking life was grand and then being sucker-punched by the news of needing four new tires. In case you don't know, I am not a rich girl. I had to finance those stupid tires and will now be paying for them until the day that I die.
Thank you for ruining my day, my weekend, and the rest of my natural born life. I hate you.
Not sincerely yours,
Pinky Lovejoy
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