Well Gang, believe it or not, I've got a Pep Boyz horror story of my own
to add to the growing string of auto service disaster stories
originating from that chain.
Last year I was preparing my '87 Grand National for a 2,000 mile trip
from Maryland to Arkansas for business, then backtracking to Bowling
Green, Kentucky for the Annual Buick GS Nationals, and then back home.
My starter had been acting up and I had to hit the key several times
before the engine would turn over, so I decided to have it replaced at
the last minute before going on my trip so I didn't get stranded along
the road during the next week of roadtrip.
I would have done it myself, but it had been pouring rain for days and I
don't have a garage or a car-port. Pep Boyz was the only repair
facility that could do the job for me
on a Sunday. I had serious reservations about this, but fearing being
stranded far from home made me reconsider.
I had an 8:30 appointment which I had made Saturday morning--because
they were already all booked up when I called. When I got there they
told me it would probably be at least 1:30 until they could get to it
because they were very busy. I explained that I had
an 8:30 appointment, and he said "We make appointments for the DAY of
service, not the
hour, because sometimes jobs take longer than expected." This should
have been my first clue to run out the door, but my judgement was
clouded by visions of missing the drag racing in Kentucky because of
breaking down in a very inconvient location.
After arguing for 20 minutes with the service advisor, he said he would
make my vehicle
a priority since I was leaving town at 4 a.m. the next morning. Finally
they got the car on the lift and had the "new employee" begin working on
it. He had no idea what tools to use and was working so slow, I was
pretty sure my car was the first car he had ever turned a wrench on. He
finally got the starter out and the new one in (total elapsed time 1
hour and 45 minutes! I could have driven home, jacked the car up in the
driveway and done
the job myself, quicker than that.
He asked me to get in the driver's seat so he could put the car back up
in the air and listen for any unusual sounds indicating that the new
starter needed to be shimmed. Are you ready...'cause this is where it
gets real ugly!!!
Now I'm way up in the air and I hit the key when he tells me to. There
is a LOUD clunk, then the starter strains (obviously in a major bind)
and the engine roars to life--BUT the starter wouldn't disengage from
the flywheel so it starts SHREIKING like a dozen cats in an electric
dryer! It was so LOUD that the mechanics in the bays on either side of
my car drop what they're doing and they run underneath my car and begin
YELLING back and forth with the guy who installed the starter over the
ever increasing noise. One of the three idiots grabbed a large hammer
and began wailing on the starter to get it to engage.
After half-a-dozen blows with no success I shut the engine off.
Every hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, because my worst
fears had now become reality (and I had heard them say they ONLY HAD ONE
starter in stock). Just
about that time smoke started rolling out from under the raised hood and
up the windshield.
I saw the manager run out of the office and head for the industrial size
fire extinguisher on the wall. In all the comotion they totally forgot
I was IN THE CAR on the lift. I had a halon extinguisher because I used
to sell fire safety equipment and I know first hand how corrosive the
dry chemical extinguishers are. In some cases the chemicals do more
damage than the fire would.
There was no way I was going to let them use that stuff on my collector
car. I jumped out of the car and ran after the guy carrying the
extinguisher and ripped it out of his hand. I SCREAMED for him to let
the car down so I could get my halon extinguisher out of the trunk. He
did. As I was running toward the front of the car to extinguish the
flames, another employee cut me off in order to throw his entire Big
Gulp right on my nice clean engine$*&^!)(#$!!! My engine bay had just
been detailed in preparation for the show in Kentucky, and this little
stunt, on top of the incompetent mechanic AND THE FIRE, made me feel
like I was going to burst a blood vessel in my forehead! I emptied the
extinguisher on the engine and then proceeded to strip the jerk verbally
for about 5 more minutes!
They spent another hour splicing new wire into the melted harness
running to the starter and then shimmed the starter and I tried it
again. This time it started, but it cranked REAL SLOW. I knew the
starter was damaged but there was nothing I could do since they didn't
have another one (and neither did the other Pep Boyz in the next town).
AND TO TOP IT OFF, THEY ATTEMPTED TO ASSURE ME THAT NOTHING WAS WRONG
WITH IT!!!!!
I immediatley went home to clean all the Coke syrup off my engine so at
least the car would present itself well IF I made it to the show. The
next morning I awoke early to make sure the car would start, because I
was going to be forced load my gear into my Chebby S10 (and take that to
the GS Nationals) if it wouldn't. Well, it did but I didn't
trust it enough to turn if off until I got to Bowling Green, because I
was supposed to travel with 7 other Grand Nationals (just imagine 8
matching Dakota's instead--hey, I KNEW there was some Dodge content in
here somewhere).
It was late in the evening when we got to Bowling Green and much to my
dismay there
wasn't a Pep Boyz in the whole town. I had to drive at least 20 miles
further south and I only had a half-hour until the stores would close.
So I hit the highway at 130 mph plus.
Well, I got to the next town and guess what? I had been misinformed, NO
PEP BOYZ!
I happened to run into a UPS truck driver at a gas station and he told
me there was one just over the state line in Tennessee. He gave me
exact turn by turn instructions with landmarks so I trusted him...and
off I went again at warp speed. I made it to the store
five minutes before closing, ran inside and relayed my tale of woe and
PLEADED with the manager to stay late and replace my the starter (which
was installed the day before) under warranty. I was SO relieved when he
confirmed that he had a starter in stock and said to pull into the third
bay.
I pulled the car into the bay and shut it off (after 16 straight hours
of running)! There was only one mechanic left because they had a slow
afternoon, and he was willing to test the starter to see if my claims
were true. My tale sounded so unbelievable that he was probably having
a difficult time accepting what I had to say. I asked him to let me
start the car so he could listen to the very unusual noise to confirm
that he believed me (unlike the other Pep Boyz crew) that it was in fact
defective. KNOW WHAT? IT WOULD NOT EVEN CRANK THE ENGINE OVER ONCE or
make a sound. It was totally fried!!! Thank God I didn't shut it off
during the trip.
I believe there is a special place in heaven reserved for hospitable
southerners. I also believe there is a special place called HELL that
is reserved for the staff at Pep Boyz
in Laurel, Maryland.
Sorry for the INCREDIBLY long post...but I bet nobody can top this
nightmare :o(
For your sake, I HOPE you can't.
Randy
'98 FR CC R/T
Date: Thu, 25 Mar 1999 13:18:57 -0600 (CST)
From: David Gloff <dgloff@xnet.com>
Subject: Re: DML: Bad PepBoys Experience
Add another Pepboys story to the list. I have a friend who works for
www.sportmachines.com and with www.syty.org (Syclone/Typhoon sites).
One
of the people he worked with had a 92 Ty that would pull low 12s. He
took
it to pepboys to get the wheels changed to 20"rs. When he went to pick
it
up, the transmission wouldn't shift out of park. They refused to take
responsibility for it, claiming the tranny was destroyed when he brought
it in, even though there would have been no way for them to get the
truck
on the lift. My guess is one of their employees decided to go for a
little joyride and did something REALLY stupid. This happened about 18
mos ago, and I believe they are still fighting it out in civil court. I
wouldn't trust pepboys to clear the dirt off my tires.
David Gloff
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