In case anyone is wondering, just over one month has passed since some half-witted barbarian knifed my convertible top, and I am still working on getting it fixed to my satisfaction.

I picked up the car from the upholstery shop over the weekend and soon started noticing some things weren’t quite right with the replacement top, so my dad (a noted expert on all things automotive) and I did some checking, and it turns out the upholstery guy used an inferior-quality replacement made by some third-party vendor, rather than a proper Ford-made top as I (naively) assumed he would. My insurance claim adjuster is being remarkably and unexpectedly cool about this situation and says I don’t need to accept anything I’m not happy with, including the quality of parts used; he’s willing to cover the additional cost of OEM replacements, so we went back to the upholsterer, exchanged some harsh language, and, to cut to the chase, another replacement, an OEM one, has now been ordered. That’ll take another week to get here, then another couple of days to install.

So the bottom line here is that somebody’s vile act of assholery that probably took less than 30 seconds to perpetrate will end up inconveniencing me for roughly six weeks. I am, as the old saying goes, chomping at the bit for this to all be over and done with. And there’s the added joy of knowing that even with an actual Ford top, my beloved car is never, ever going to be 100 percent “right” ever again. Because they never are after something like this. And there’s also the paranoia now, wondering if I dare park at The Girlfriend’s any longer, or anywhere else for the matter, for fear of this happening again.

Every time I think about my poor car, I end up feeling discouraged, disappointed, disheartened… and very, very pissed off. I’m still incredibly angry about this entire incident: the casual disrespect for me and for something I’ve worked very, very hard to pay for and keep in good condition; the hassles of getting it fixed; the fact that I don’t know who I’m supposed to talk to or what questions I need to ask so I end up feeling stupid and having to have the work done again. Arg!

There’s some worthless piece of shit walking around out there somewhere who has no idea how very lucky he is I didn’t catch him in the act…