Back when I lived in Florida, there were tons of orange trees around. I remember having to give them away because they would rot before I went through them all. When I was a kid, my grandparents would make juice from the oranges we picked from our own backyard. I did it a few times as an adult, but not very often. Recently, we acquired a rather large quantity of oranges left over from the Tour de Tots ride and the Charlotte Mountain Bike Series Finale. While looking through the fridge the other day, I immediately had a flashback to my time in Florida. “Look at all these damn oranges. They’re gonna go bad before we eat them.” Then I thought, “I’ll make juice!” Little Miss Sunshine had to remind me of my intentions a few times, since things get pretty busy around our house. Finally I got to squeezin’ last night. While the juice was super-duper delicious, I realized why I prefer to buy orange juice from the store. It takes a shitload of oranges to make a decent amount of juice, and it also takes a lot of time. According to the note that Little Miss Sunshine left for me this morning, it was worth the effort.
Shifting gears (or applying the brakes in this case), I just received word from the recently returned from vacationing Dirty Party Cycle that the Great Brake Fiasco has been resolved. Well, sort of. He told me that the latest replacement brake also had the bleed plug removed, and a little fluid had leaked out again. Not so much this time, so he proceeded to install the brakes. The stopping power was slightly questionable, so he will be visiting a local bike shop to have the brakes inspected. He doesn’t want to deal with those customer service idiots again, I’m sure. Let’s pretend he does, shall we?
Customer Service: Hello, how can we ruin your day?
DPC: You obviously know who this is.
Customer Service: No sir. We treat all of our customers to the same level of shitty service.
DPC: That’s good to hear. You sent me yet another faulty brake.
Customer Service: I apologize to you sir. Please visit our web site to order another one.
DPC: No, I don’t think so. I’m through dealing with you. I told Marsellus about it, and he’s pissed beyond the highest level of pisstivity.
Customer Service: Gulp.
DPC: Yeah, that’s right. He sent the Wolf over my way to take care of the brake problem, but he’s got something special for you.
Customer Service: click
"If that customer service rep goes to Indochina, I want somebody waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass."
You see, Marsellus doesn't like to get screwed by anyone, except Mrs. Wallace. The DPC will be back on the trail again soon.
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