“You didn’t fix it!” he snapped, pointing at me.
“Sir, I explained last week—you have two separate issues. The check engine light is related to your emissions system. That’s a different repair.”
“I don’t care what you explained! You should’ve fixed everything!”
I sighed. “I can only fix what you authorize. It’s all on your invoice.”
He grabbed his keys. “This place is a joke. I’m leaving a review.”
Then he stormed out.
I stood there, waving my hands, feeling that familiar sting. Still, I pushed it aside. People get frustrated. Cars are expensive. I understand that.
I just wish they understood me.
Near closing time, I was sweeping under a lift when my broom hit something solid.
It was a worn black leather wallet.
I opened it, expecting a few bills and cards—but instead, I saw thick stacks of $100 bills.
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