Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a drama in several parts entitled “The Explorer That Would Not Leave,” a true story from my past about one of those times where things never seem to go as planned. It is a tale that may sound familiar to anyone who turns wrenches for a living.

Our story begins with Mr. & Mrs. Local Customer, a young couple who live about 30 minutes away. They used to be loyal customers until an incident occurred in our Service Department involving Mr. Customer’s then new F250 6.0L truck and a technician’s lift which did not end well. Two other vehicles, a 2002 Ford Explorer and a 1995 Windstar van make up the rest of their fleet.

After the lift incident, we did not see the couple for several years, until Mr. Customer pulled in the service lane last summer. Turns out, he had become dissatisfied with his current vehicle service provider, and decided to give us another chance. Seeing this as a confirmation of the old saying “Time heals all wounds,” Service Advisor Justin promised to “earn his trust again.”

Mr. Customer had been experiencing some seemingly unsolvable issues with his truck, (anyone familiar with Ford’s 6.0L diesel knows what I mean), as well as some driveability issues with his wife’s Windstar. Repairs to both of these vehicles would have to wait until parts arrive. In the mean time, he asks Service Advisor Justin, “Can you do an oil change on my wife’s Explorer, nothing else, just an oil change?”

The Explorer was entrusted to our senior Maintenance Technician, Jarrett, who changed the oil and replaced the fuel filter, per Mr. Customer’s request. Immediately after affixing the oil change reminder sticker to the windshield, the 140k mile 5R55 transmission, with what appeared to be original fluid, decided that this precise moment would be the ideal one in which to cease operation.

With the idea of “earning his trust again” in serious jeopardy, Justin made the call that Service Advisors dread. Turns out, Mr. Customer didn’t come quite as unglued as expected. While not a happy camper by any means, his main concern at this point was getting at least one of his vehicles to run under its own power for an extended period of time.

Since automatic transmissions take several days to arrive, the Explorer takes its place in the service lot. It just so happens the above mentioned Windstar and F250 are both sitting nearby, also awaiting parts. In the space of 3 days, we had gone from not seeing Mr. Customer for several years, to having his entire fleet sitting helplessly outside.

The remanufactured transmission was entrusted to technician Shaun for installation, who performed the task like a seasoned veteran, although he was gone an awfully long time on his roadtest. Standing in the restroom with my hands still wet from the wash sink, I answer my cell phone to hear, “Grab some coolant and come and get me.” Coolant ?

Four liter Explorers have a series of coolant lines located beside the intake manifold. The plastic connector in this assembly decided Interstate 70 about 4 miles from the dealership would be the perfect place to break, not just crack, but split into two pieces. The water pump, no longer impeded by so much restriction, had no trouble emptying the contents of the cooling system along the highway, thereby making the need for precise directions to Shaun’s whereabouts unnecessary.

Back at the shop, the conversation between Justin and Shaun went something like this: “Do we have the line in stock?” “No” “How did the tranny perform?” “Tranny performed great. Oh, by the way he knows his airbag light is on, right.” “Airbag light?”

Thinking we were about to become the victim of the it-wasn’t-on-when-I-dropped-it-off argument, the Explorer now took up residence in my stall for restraint systems diagnostics. My IDS diagnostic computer spit trouble code B2292 at me, accompanied by a 33 flash code. In Ford-speak, this trouble code means that a fault has occurred in a seat belt buckle pretensioner. The flash code of 33 tells me that the fault is on the driver’s side. Since our Parts Department had neither the pretensioner kit, nor the above mentioned coolant hose in stock, all work was halted on the Explorer for the rest of the afternoon. The day ended with Justin having to make yet another “I should have you done tomorrow” phone call to Mrs. Customer.

The next afternoon, with a new coolant line in place, the overflow bottle now has a nice fresh green color to it. That flashing airbag light on the dash has become a recent memory. Shaun can now perform a proper 20 mile road test to check his transmission installation, during which he did not have to call me once. Shop Foreman Brent also took it for an equally long spin, and gave it the official thumbs up. Service Advisor Justin was all smiles as he thanked Mrs. Customer for allowing us to "earn her trust again."

So, you can imagine what he was thinking when she pulled back in the lane 10 minutes later with the check engine light shining brightly from her instrument cluster. “Is it us, are we cursed?” she asked. At this point, nobody could answer this question with any certainty, although that thought did cross Justin’s mind.

With my trusty IDS in hand again, I find trouble code P0401. This is an EGR code that is defined as “insufficient flow.” In Ford-speak, this indicates a faulty DPFE sensor. And, since Ford DPFE issues seem to be a permanent fixture like death and taxes, I can be reasonably sure that we have a dozen or so of them in stock. With Justin being able to call and say “We’ve got you done!” for the first time and be right, Mrs. Customer returns at the end of the day and actually got to take her own vehicle home.

I laughed as Mrs. Customer drove away. You see, what started out as a simple oil change mutated into repairs to the driveline, cooling system, restraint system, and engine management system. Each new problem that arose had absolutely nothing to do with the previous problem we had just fixed. If there was a bright spot among all this darkness, I could take pride in the fact that we as technicians caused none of this.

He who laughs last laughs loudest -Author Unknown.

Two days later, I notice a familiar looking Ford Explorer parked in the service lane. I didn’t say anything to Service Advisor Justin as I walked up to him. “The airbag light is on again,” he says. Well, at least it made it two days before the separation anxiety set in this time.

With restraint system diagnostics becoming very familiar to me by now, IDS gave me trouble code B2292, same as before, but with a 34 flash code. The trouble code is the same, pretensioner circuit failure. However, the flash code is different. While a 33 flash code indicates driver’s side, a 34 flash code indicates - you guessed it - passenger side. Since we did not have the driver’s side pretensioner kit in stock previously, I can be reasonably sure we won’t have the passenger side kit in stock either. The Parts Department never fails to disappoint when called upon to do so. I can already hear “I should have you done tomorrow” off in the distance.

Eventually, The Explorer That Would Not Leave finally did relinquish its grip on our shop. I don’t recall how much time passed, or even IF Justin has heard from Mr. & Mrs. Customer again. This means that either A) we managed to get all of his vehicle problems solved (an unlikely conclusion given the pattern of events), or B) we didn’t exactly “earn their trust again.” I guess only time will tell . . .

This is a true event, my buddy got this off of a Best Buy forums (he works there). Enjoy






This Letter of Apology is not only for the staff at the Best Buy #305 in Schaumburg, Illinois, but also to the gentleman in the middle stall in the men's restroom at about 5:17 CST on Saturday, January 31st. You had been in there for awhile, so this Letter of Apology is as much for you. Please let me expand...

I recently finished reading The Chris Farley Show (I strongly recommend this book for everyone) and have been wanting to buy SNL's Best of Chris Farley. After my fiancee's grandmother's 90th birthday party in the northwest suburbs (very lovely gathering, by the way) Saturday late afternoon/early evening, I decide to stop by and buy it. Right away, I find the last one on the shelf as my fiancée is looking for other "bargains," and I pass it to her when I realize my stomach is rumbling. I decide to take a trip to the men's room in search of a better life for myself. That's when complications began to arise.

As I walk towards the men's room, a mother is telling her son "it's okay, use the bathroom, I'll be right here" or something like that. I remember being that age (about 7-9) and public bathrooms were not your friend. I walk in just behind the little boy and see him glance at the urinal for a brief second - and then he walks to the rear stall. DAMMIT!! The middle stall is taken, and I think pooping in a urinal on a Saturday afternoon is a felony in most states. I sigh, leave, and take a couple of more (fast) laps around all of the movies and Wii games.

I return to the restroom about four minutes and ten seconds later, and the rear stall is now open. PAYDIRT!!! The middle stall is still occupied by the same dude as before (I can tell by seeing the same shoes and pants on the floor underneath the door). I actually think to myself, "that sucks, poor guy." After wiping the toilet seat, I sit down and take a refreshing and cleansing poo. Things are looking up in life again.

I go to flush the toilet and sneer at how ugly it looks in there. It's bad. Really bad. It is actually too gross for me to follow-through on taking a picture of it and texting it to my friend Steve.

Anyway, here is where things went awry. Very. I flush the toilet. Bubble. Bubbling. Rumbling. Uh-oh. The water rises a little. Please go down. Please. The water rises a little more. Nervousness settles in. Quickly. poo. Dammit. %#&!. %#&!. %#&!. Stop the water. Industrial toilet. It's not an option. What the Heck. poo. Please go down. Water still rising. Not going down. Really bad. 1" to go. %#&! %#&! %#&!. Please just stop. 1/2" left. Time to think of an exit strategy. Water overflows. Well, I guess you can call it water, but it doesn't really look like water anymore. And, I just remember about the poor guy in the middle stall. Stay calm. And get out of there. Now.

"Watch your feet, dude, I'll get somebody quick." I said it as calm as I possibly could.

I almost immediately find a Best Buy employee: "I just wanted you to know that a toilet is overflowing in the men's restroom, and you're going to want to get somebody in there quick."

I find my fiancée almost immediately. I walk very (very) fast towards her. "Can you get the movies? I'll get the car." She knows something is wrong. Very wrong. I guess I won't argue with her buying Forgetting Sarah Marshall, then. I go to the car and circle around the parking lot for about eight minutes. I am hoping that the guy from the middle stall isn't scouring the parking lot yet for the guy with brown hair in the black pullover and dark green vest. My fiancée walks out, she jumps in, and I speed away as fast as a 5 MPH speed limit in a parking lot permits.

So, please accept my apology, the guy in the middle stall, and also the fine employees at the Best Buy #305. I sincerely apologize for any heartache, headaches, and pain I may have caused you. And for ruining your weekend. Every time I watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall with my lovely soon-to-be wife, a special cloud of guilt will hang over my head for you.

Sincerely,

Anonymous.