Thank You, GM

I got a letter in the mail today (well, technically, Brian got it, which still gets my goat*) from GM about a condition on some 2006 Pontiac G6 vehicles.  The electric power steering goes out.

My car has had that condition for several years now.  I crank up the car, the car beeps for a few seconds, then a display on the dash says “Power Steering.”  Until the power steering actually started locking up, I never did anything about it.  Over the last 6 months, it started locking up more frequently, so I knew I needed to part with my cash and finally get it fixed.  I got it fixed in July.  That’s a story for another day about picking up the car, feeding a toddler and a newborn and selling the house.  Sounds exciting, huh?

Along with getting the steering column replaced, they also worked on the tie rods.  Again.  Let’s see, and before that, it was replace the tie rods, replace the interior headliner, replace the interior sun visors, replace the battery (less than a year old doing freaky, random things like the clock resetting, changing from CD player to radio, alarm goes off, doors lock and unlock), and replace the interior headliner pins.  None of these things sounds like a big deal, but that’s a lot of trips to the mechanic on a brand new car.  Granted, my car is no longer brand new, but everything until now had been covered under the warranty.  I’m not even counting normal things like tires or oil changes.

This car has taught me not to buy another American car.  I thought I was doing the right thing by “Buying American.”  If buying American means taking my car to the mechanic at least once a year and listening to the creaks and groans of a new car because it’s a cheap product, I’m not interested.  No thanks.  I’ll go buy a quiet Japanese car that lasts forever.  Thank you, GM.  (But I’ll take my reimbursement on the steering column replacement.  Thank you, GM.)

*Brian’s name is registered to the G6.  I got news for you, GM:  I picked the car, I negotiated the deal on the car, I wrote the check for the car, I drive the car…it’s my car.  My husband doesn’t like my car.  Why is my husband’s name on all correspondence?  Because he’s a guy?  Grrr.  That really gets my goat.  Parents are People.

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