Not that the conclusion was trouble-free. In fact, it became a multi-part odyssey.
But first an update.
I. The body shop manager called to say my Corvette would be ready at the end of the day. I asked if it could be a little earlier so I could avoid rush hour. It's about 20 miles back from the dealership in Gaithersburg, and returning across the American Legion Bridge is often a bottleneck. He said it could but that it was still waiting on some service to be performed.
Tests had eternized that the problem with the remote top operation was a fob defect, so a new one needed to be programmed. Of course, that should have been done while the oil was being changed, but somehow it fell through the cracks.
I assumed that it soon could be accomplished, so I programmed the BMW's navigation system with Enterprise's address and set off to return it and retrieve my repaired Corvette. However, when I reached the junction where I-270 split off from I-495 towards the dealership and was commanded to remain on 495, I realized it was sending me to a different destination.
II. I hadn't thought to also activate my phone's GPS, but I knew that Enterprise was not far from the dealer, and I did know how to get there. I ignored the impassioned requests to leave at intervening interchanges, and when I finally did exit, stopped, and turned on my phone's GPS.
Unfortunately, the BMW Directrix's commands were loud and insistent, which weren't diminished by decreasing the radio volume. Earlier, I had worked my way through various menus and submenus and found a way to cancel the route, but now I couldn't duplicate that process.
So now I had dueling navigators, the incorrect one louder than the accurate one. Then I heard the accurate voice coming from somewhere lower. I didn't have an extra dash mount to keep the phone in position, and it had slid off the console.
I didn't see it on the floor – what if it had lodged between the seat and the console? However, after getting out and closely examining the floor, I found it had slid under the floor mat, which was inexplicably just a mesh fabric.
I now followed the faint instructions to my destination – which turned out to be a large gas station. It looked like there was a road next to it, so I pulled in and discovered it was just another way to enter.
Along the way, I had thought that a sideways glance at the phone might have indicated a turn to the right, so I made a U-turn and tried again. None of the side detours I tried worked, and I soon found myself once again in front of the gas station.
III. Then I noticed, several hundred feet down the street amongst the foliage, a discreet Enterprise sign. Of course, the way things had been going, it was understandable that the predicted location would be too near rather than too far.
As I entered the office, a customer engaging the only agent was attempting to arrange a discount that he had received in the past. He said that, after all, his company had 8,000 employees nationwide and that they exclusively used Enterprise. The rate they were providing for the truck he wanted was $800 per month, but he was only allowed $600.
The agent called the manager, but after some discussion, the manager could not reduce the price – it would have to be worked out at higher levels. He settled on a two-week rental, and the agent left with him to complete the transaction.
When he returned, I mentioned the difficulty in locating their facility, and he said the discreet sign was due to Montgomery County regulations, perhaps in reaction to the gaudy gas station display. My check-out was quick – I had added gas and avoided the McLean Giant parking lot – and we departed by shuttle to the dealer.
IV. It turned out there was no rush; they were still working on programming the fob. I went into the customer lounge, from which, of course, all the interesting magazines about cars, motorcycles, boats, and aircraft had been removed.
Eventually, they notified me that the fob had been reprogrammed, but because I hadn't thought to – that is, been advised to – also bring along the second one, it was programmed as Fob-3. Of course, the car only has two memory positions for the seat, steering wheel, and outside mirrors, but it would remotely lower the top!
And in the meantime, the original Fob-1 would work as before.
So now there was only the final washing and cleaning of the car, which also seemed to take much longer than I would have expected. Finally, they came to tell me it was ready.
But then they were notified the car wouldn't start – it had to be jumped! Not a good sign – I didn't want to have it once again trailered to the dealer if the same problem arose at home.
Rather than having me wait even longer while they diagnosed the problem, they said they could provide a loaner, which also would provide the opportunity for me to return with the second fob.
V. However, there was the problem that this late in the day there didn't seem to be a loaner available. After a brief reconnoiter, they did find one. Of course, they had to retrieve the insurance card from the Corvette to complete the application.
The loaner was a Jeep Cherokee. I thought that would be an interesting surprise for Betty Lou when I pulled up with another very different vehicle. However, it turned out to look just like any other SUV, but with a little more ground clearance. They said the one that did look like a Jeep was the Wrangler.
Inside the vehicle, I had the agent demonstrate how to operate the important controls. The air conditioner was pretty crude, not providing a means to set the inside temperature, but requiring one to push an up or down button. It did helpfully display outside temperature.
The radio, of course, didn't have Sirius/XM activated, so I reduced the volume, changed the frenetic station to something calmer, and adjusted the audio controls from maximum treble and bass to mid-range. The headlights were automatic, so only the usual dimming was required.
The agent left, removing the cone from the additional space in front so I could easily leave. While I was adjusting the seat and mirrors, someone backed into the convenient now-open spot. I honked the horn, but he wasn't interested, motioning me to go around the side. A car was on my left, and there did appear to be slightly more than enough room to maneuver around the one now in front, but all I needed to complete the day was to scrape the side of the loaner car before I could leave the lot.
VI. And I soon realized that such an occurrence was not just a remote possibility. When I pressed the accelerator, it slowly crept and then lunged forward! Out on the driveway, I tried again with the same results. This was pretty frightening, so I drove around to the service entrance, parked, and went back in to the service counter.
I told the agent the problem and asked if maybe some adjustments needed to be made. He came out from behind the counter, but instead of following me, strode off in the opposite direction! So I returned to the car and stood and waited – and waited.
The body shop manager was leaving for the day and asked me what was happening – by now, we had developed a rapport. When I told him the situation, he went into the service and body shop areas in search of the errant agent.
In the meantime, I discussed my problem with a nearby service writer, who revealed that he had heard there had been a vehicle that had surging problems!
So that's why it was not listed as a loaner but was still on the lot!
What next? Take a shuttle back to Enterprise, this time on the dealer's dollar?
VII. Then, like a mirage, my car arrived, piloted by the mechanic who had worked on my Corvettes since 2008. It had been a computer problem, which he had reprogrammed, and I was finally on my way.
Fortunately, rush hour wasn't what it had been in pre-coronavirus times, and except for a brief slowdown before the American Legion Bridge, it was relatively smooth sailing.
Well, there was the disabled vehicle in the right lane of the inbound George Washington Parkway, which fortunately I saw in time to dodge into the left lane. I had already passed a serious accident on the outbound side with several emergency vehicles on the scene and preferred not to participate in a similar incident.
Here are before and after photos, although the after one would be indistinguishable from a pre-before one.
I had heard from several people responding to my earlier sad story about how dangerous they had found the McLean Giant parking lot. One had even parked on a side street to avoid it and now lived close enough that she walked there with a backpack to carry back groceries.
We later had a socially-distanced outdoor lunch with our insurance agent, and I mentioned their comments, and also that the Chesterbrook shopping center seemed to have much wider lanes and parking spaces. She said they'd never had a claim from there, but they had a ton of them from McLean!
I guess I had just been lucky all these years, but I'll park more remotely from now on.
But there was still the matter that, although the Corvette once again looked pristine, now that the repair was a matter of public record, its value had diminished. It turned out that the process of recovering the diminished value was another saga.
I later realized that this saga was reminiscent of the time I was locked out, and the time I had a battery replaced, as well as of a similar account, although secondhand.