He insists it wasn't his machine, and that if I didn't do all that extra work then someone else did it behind my back. Yet it's only my brother and I in the business. I worked on the machine myself (Phil did not touch it) and we only had it in our possession about 3 hours. Well, then, someone came while my back was turned and did it.
Really, Mr. Customer, you really think that? Besides the fact that the whole idea is simply insane (how many of you know what a Spartan 1065 is or how it's wired, let alone which switches or handle are required? Yet any one of you might have just walked in off the street and into my repair shop and did all that) the job would have taken about 30-45 minutes; how would I have missed that, seeing as I was there the whole time the machine was and our shop has a small, wide open interior?
Well, I hate to do it, Marty, but my machine was stolen and I'm going to have to file a police report and take you to court, I was told as he left. Okay, then, do what you have to do, but even Detroit cops ought to laugh you out of the precinct with a story like that.
I'm mystified. I actually found myself hoping the guy's okay, because you gotta be nuts to think like that.
Okay, as my curling buddy Paul Ramey would tell me, 'Breathe, Marty'. It feels like I just lived a backward Dead Parrot skit...