Four point five. Okay, I'll round it up to give it a five.
Me: Just handed the opened, perishable, groceries to a very hungry looking woman at the parking lot at Walmart. I didn't want to deal with making sure they got in the fridge in time, and she looked like she needed them. Drove into the closest gas station aaaaannnd....
Steam.
Soaring temperature gauge.
Big sigh. dammit.
Willows is not known for its vibrant night, or car repair life. Trust me. And it was over 100 degree heat.
Called AAA.
Big 'ol trucked pulled in for my little ol' car. Nice guy, professional, competent. Told me the only people who will do foreign cars was this place.
Me: "You sure? It looks like a simple fix."
Him: "It's a BMW lady, those Germans do all kinds of weird things with cars."
He put my car up on that big ol' truck and took me all the way (eh, about a mile) into town. Waved at the guy who kinda sorta greeted us. But looked like he didn't want another car. Dammit.
Though it looked like they didn't need my business, nor particularly want it, they found a spot for my car. (Seriously, is the real estate that expensive in Willows? There was no room for my car!)
No one really talked to me, but I got the impression that they might get to it... sometime. Like, this week or so. But then, no one really talked to me. Got an estimate. Hourly rates were $85 for labor (my guy in the city is $90, so I was a bit taken aback. I mean, it isn't like the housing market is fast a furious there.)
But what can you do? I was about 172 miles from home. Dammit. And I was getting sunburned. Sigh.
I grabbed all I could carry of my electronic and camera equipment from my car, about 50 pounds worth of stuff, and hesitantly said goodbye to the rest. Cringe.
Tow truck guy, who was a pleasant companion and champion through all this, took me back to the Walmart to wait for my Mom and Dad to save their daughter, yet again. Walmart was the most likely air conditioned spot I could think of to wait the hour and a half.
Did you know the Walmart in Willows does not have a Subway or McDonalds?
Dammit.
I lugged my 50 pound bag to Nancy's Airport Cafe across the street.
M and D came, and as soon as we were back in Redding, we all went into gear. I looked this place up on the internet. Mom called family who lived in Orland. Dad did something. I don't know. Probably avoided all this frantic, feminine activity.
Anyway, next day, we called. Car was ready. All was well. Cost was more than fair.
So, final verdict? Like a doctor who has done a thousand knee replacements, you may not love his bedside manner, but you go because he is good and you trust him. Same thing for this place. The bedside manner didn't sing for me, but they treated me right. And that is what really counts.