No clue when I'll even have the parts. Did the diagnosis on it today.
His bìtch ass had ample opportunity to work on it as it's been at the shop since 8am Monday morning.
The polesmoker service manager danced around the repair order laying on the counter while spoon feeding his baby boy and dreaming of felching Pabst blue ribbon from lord of the wrenches asshòle and waited until I was caught up to give it to me.
Whatever. I'll do the job. And unlike those fùckwads reinstall all the bolts.
I guarantee I'll get 75% of the way into the job and the old Lord will come walking over, because he's a nosey piece of shìt, and ask what I'm doing. He will then immediately turn into a subject matter expert and I will tell him to go fornicate with himself and a pair of jagged vice grips.
Happens all the time.
