The Nittany Turkey

Primarily about Penn State football, this is a tale told by idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

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My Tesla Model Y Purchasing Experience

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An Editorial Opinion from The Nittany Turkey

This post will give you an idea of what to expect from Tesla if you order one of their cars, from on-line ordering through delivery. While Tesla produces some excellent technologically advanced motor vehicles, the customer experience leaves much to be desired. Hoping to save some of you readers the exasperation I dealt with, I want to let you know what to anticipate. By the time you read this, I hope that Tesla gets the message and you can tell me I am all wet.

Ordering and Delivery Scheduling

Ordering is simple. There are few options, and everything is fixed price with no negotiation bullshit like the typical dealer experience. You order your car, and you are given a projected delivery window, which in my case was October 4 – 24. I was able to get my Model Y Performance Edition on September 30, which I’ll explain below. If you order now, depending on which model you choose, delivery windows are currently (as of October 3, 2021) being scheduled out to March or April of 2022. Yes, I got lucky.

We Found You a Car

I received a call from the local Tesla store on the afternoon of September 29 stating that a new Tesla Model Y Performance edition with the same configuration as the one I had ordered was available because the original buyer decided not to go through with the purchase. The sales associate, who I’ll call Joe Blow, told me that the buyer “had insulted [him]”. I asked what the buyer did. The response was odd, as I didn’t consider it an insult, just ordinary purchasing tactics (which don’t work with Tesla). The buyer ordered the trailer hitch but didn’t want to pay for it. That’s an insult?

September 30 is the end of the calendar quarter. If you know anything about purchasing cars, that’s when good deals can be had, as it is a sales reporting period for shareholders, salesmen’s commissions, and so forth. In Tesla’s case, they’re interested in the end-of-quarter numbers, but as I’ve mentioned, they don’t do deals. So, I was getting early ownership of a car I had expected sometime the following month. While on the phone, I made a delivery appointment for 5 PM with the associate.

Thus, I’m doing Tesla and Joe Blow a favor. What can they do for me? Having to arrange financing in one day and getting them their money requires a lot of work. Nevertheless, I paid in full by the morning of the 30th. I asked the associate whether they could install my HomeLink (which, alas, is an extra cost item you must order separately and you cannot self-install) while I finished whatever paperwork was necessary. The answer was no. I suggested that they owed me a bottle of scotch or something for my trouble in helping them meet their sales goals.

Setting Up the Delivery Experience

When you order a Tesla, you review the paperwork online and accept it. That’s very cool. When you have a nice, new car waiting for you, you don’t want to be sitting in some dingy office reviewing and signing paper. Big plus for Tesla in that area. I reviewed and accepted half a dozen documents. While I was doing so, I noticed that my appointment had been moved to 4 PM from 5 PM, but no one had personally communicated that change to me. Not a big deal.

A friend who is also a Tesla owner offered me a ride to the Tesla store, which I gladly accepted. Arriving on time for the delivery experience, my friend and I saw my new car parked in one of the customer delivery slots, so we could inspect its exterior before going in to see the sales associate. As you might have heard about Tesla, many new vehicles have issues with fit and finish, so with that in mind we discovered that one rear door needed adjustment.

Inside the lobby, I noted that the furnishings and decorations were spartan to the point of being unwelcoming, unlike the usual auto dealership experience, where they try to make you comfortable while they extract your wallet. Tesla doesn’t see the need for that, I suppose, and they also give their solar power sales desk a prominent place in the lobby. Back in the service waiting room, there are few amenities and the upholstery on the chairs is ratty and needs to be replaced.

We walked up to the guy at the desk who was looking down at a laptop with stickers all over its shell. I told him who I was and who I was there to see at 4 PM. Turned out to the be the guy I was talking to. He cracked a couple jokes about the bottle of scotch I wanted, saying that is what his boss drinks and some other nonsense. I wanted to get on with the delivery. So he said he would get the keys set up.

Where da Keys?

Tesla’s “key” for the Model Y is a plastic card. They just must program the car’s ID into the card, much like a hotel programs your key card for the room. My friend and I went outside to wait by the car for the guy with the keys, because who the hell wants to hang out in that crappy lobby for any length of time? We waited. And waited. And waited. Steam was coming out of my ears. Enough of that was enough.

We went back inside and were glad-handed by another employee asking if we had been taken care of. Showing my pique, I said, “No. I’m here for a delivery. Joe Blow (again, not his real name) was supposed to be getting me the keys and he disappeared into the back room. Did he die?” She directed us to sit and wait for him. I wasn’t going to sit in that place. We stood and waited.

Fix My Damn Door

Shortly thereafter, Joe Blow emerged, cracking jokes as usual, saying his boss and he got a laugh out of my question about whether he died. I said, “You aren’t dead so you must have been on vacation,” as we walked out the front door. More jokes, for which I was in no mood. “What the hell is so f________g funny?!?!?” I asked. “I got here at 4 PM and you’ve been farting around for 20 minutes.”

I proceeded to show Joe Blow the door issue we had found. He said he would have the service people take care of it. More delays as he took the car back to service. We went back inside the barn to not melt in the 90-degree Florida sun. That’s when I noticed how crappy the service waiting room is.

About 15 minutes later, he came back with the car, handed me the keys, and said, “All you have to do is sign off on the delivery and you can get in your new Tesla and drive away.” I asked if I could do that with the app on my phone. “No, you have to do it on the website.” We’re standing outside with the sun glaring on my phone screen and he wants me to navigate to the Tesla site with a web browser? I was already annoyed, so I said, “Just bring me something to sign!”

He did. I signed it. And then he went back inside. Whaaaaaaat?

Here’s Your Car. Bye.

Having purchased many cars during my lifetime, the one thing I have come to expect is an orientation to the features and systems in the vehicle as the salesman sends the happy customer on his or her way. Some people need more of this than others, but it is a good customer experience touch, and it is a suitable time to cement the relationship between the customer and the dealership. The salesman usually leaves his card and, whether sincere or not, says, “Call me with any questions you might have.” Tesla gave me none of that.

With Tesla — at least with my local Tesla store — there was no such experience. “Here’s your keys.” That was it. Fortunately, I needs no orientation, as I had watched nine million YouTube videos and read the entire owner’s manual long before accepting delivery. But it was not even offered. What if I was a new Tesla customer (which I am) who had absolutely no idea of how a Tesla works?

I got the distinct impression that Joe Blow was more intent on making jokes back in the office than creating a smooth and pleasant customer experience. The old Bahamian saying that the fish must stink from the head on down certainly applies here, so I’ll assume that Tesla needs a company-wide customer experience manager who might straighten out these brusque and arrogant local operatives, in time. Smoothing out the delivery and communication experience should be the first order of business.

You know, I did them a favor, in return for which I was made to wait and then pushed out the door without so much as a thank you. But wait — there’s more!

Driving Home and Seeing Red

I drove home with my friend following. I love this car! While all the delivery nonsense cannot be forgiven, in time the shitty delivery experience will fade into a distant memory, albeit one I will recount to prospective Tesla owners. Yeah, the joy of a new car can heal many customer relations wounds. Ahhh, but the screwups did not end when I left the lot. There was one more thing…

Having pulled the car into my garage, I wanted to charge it. I have a J1772 power delivery unit in the garage, which I purchased in anticipation of owning an EV. I looked in all the storage areas of my new Model Y. Wait, what!!?!? No charging cable and no J1772 adapter, which were both included in the car deal! I blew my cork. “Now I must return to that damn place in 5 PM traffic to pick up something they left off?!?!?!?”

My friend, who owns a Model 3, offered me his adapter, and further offered to stop by the Tesla store on his way home to pick up the charging kit. I’m grateful to have such a generous friend, who I would be seeing the following Saturday, when I would pick up the kit and return his adapter. However, if my ire over the earlier delivery experience had been softening in the exhilarating wake of driving a new car, it just developed a further hard edge. From a customer relations angle, Tesla sure suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks!

Tesla, Get Your Act Together!

In recent months, Tesla has “cheaped out” in a few areas. They eliminated the referral program for new car buyers, who previously would get 1,000 free supercharger miles as would their referrer. They also eliminated the adjustable lumbar support on the front passenger seat of the Model Y because they said their data suggested that it wasn’t being used frequently. They do not include a SiriusXM radio in Model 3s and Model Ys, and it is an extra cost option on Model Ss and Model Xs. And what’s with the HomeLink option requiring a separate order and installation?

Tesla needs to work on their customer experience. They get a lot of latitude from their “save the planet” cult-based customer base, but if they are wanting to expand beyond the geeks and the tree-huggers, they’ll have to do better. Some of us old farts have a limited tolerance for bullshit.

A Long Overdue Union

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Bright spots are rare in a year we would all rather forget, a dismal year replete with killer viruses, riots, looting, murder hornets, anti-government protests, and police brutality. (You would think it was 1969 all over again — a disastrous year for this country redeemed only by Woodstock). In this post, I will happily turn my back on all the negative crap to share our joyous event with my six loyal readers.

First, I’ll apologize for what I always apologize for this time of the year: my long spring/summer absence from The Nittany Turkey. Thank you for having enough faith in my oscillating blogging habits to stay subscribed!

But I digress…

My digressions are legendary, so before I share the happy news, I’ll point you to fellow blogger “The Lions’ Den” for some recent commentary on the current woes of Penn State season ticket holders. When he is not yelling at cranky old men in Walmart parking lots in Altoona, Todd, an ophthalmologist, is operating on cranky old men’s eyes, guys he has probably yelled at in Walmart parking lots. Anyhow, Todd is a season ticket holder who wrote a good, cranky piece called “To Be There or Not to Be There… That IS the Question” about the Penn State football situation from the perspective of a loyal subscriber. Highly recommended.

A Sweetened Turkey

For the benefit of those who happen across this blog and are not yet familiar with the characters, I am The One and Only Nittany Turkey, while my better half goes by the blog pseudonym of Artificially Sweetened, a moniker that relates to her former career as a microbial researcher at a company famous for producing those much maligned substances that sweeten our foods without adding blood glucose and avoirdupois. Her real name is Jenny, and my real name is Ben. After fourteen years of non-connubial, albeit somewhat conjugal, togetherness, we decided to make it all legal last Wednesday. The Turkey is now permanently Sweetened, and Artificially Sweetened is now Turkified.

Artificially Sweetened and Ol’ Sourpuss

Initial discussions called for a grand, outdoor event surrounded by friends and family with lively music interlaced with some Jewish tradition, but we ran into several roadblocks early in the process. Covid-19 had thrown a big monkey wrench into the works, which suuuucked. So, last Monday, your favorite Turkey hit Jenny up with a proposition, “How about we just go to the courthouse and get married on Wednesday?”

“Why, this is all so sudden, Rhett!” was the Sweetened response, but after the initial shock, she readily agreed. We would do the deed — just the two of us — at the Seminole County Courthouse.

This Turkey does not like to waste money. I purchased a marriage license back in June which was good for sixty days. It would have cost another ninety bucks if we had allowed it to expire! The grand plan for a December wedding would have necessitated another wallet extraction.

Getting Ready

But seriously, it was an exciting time for both of us. We didn’t discuss cleaning ourselves (view the service page for cleaning services) up for the occasion but we both went off and did some stuff. Jenny got her hair cut (about one-quarter inch, from the looks of it), and splurged on a manicure and pedicure. This Turkey, having lost seventy pounds this year, didn’t have time to get a new suit that fit; however, digging deep into the closet I found a navy-blue blazer I had bought thirty-five years ago. After an extended period in mothballs, it now fits again. My dress shirts were too big so I masked up and went to Macy’s for a new shirt. While there, I found a tie on the sale table that would match Jenny’s bright red wedding dress. My tan loafers hailed from decades past and the tan pants came from a storage box where I had stowed sizes too small for my previously porked-up state.

I stashed the two simple gold rings in my pockets, Jenny’s on the right and mine on the left, so I wouldn’t spazz out by grabbing the wrong one at the appropriate time of the ceremony. With that, we grabbed our masks and were ready to hit the road.

At the Courthouse

We arrived at the Seminole County Courthouse in Sanford, Florida, overlooking scenic Lake Monroe, at 1:45 PM for our 2 PM appointment. After walking around the block because officials restricted courthouse access to a single entrance, we were accosted by a clerk who took our temperatures and handed us clipboards with questionnaires about our virus exposure. (Where have the clipboards been? Huh? Huh? I’m damn glad I had a small bottle of hand sanitizer in my pocket).

Then it was time for the decisive moment — the body temperature check, which would determine whether we were fit for entry. Alas, our recorded temperatures were both too high to be allowed inside. Duh! We had been walking in the sun for five minutes on a 95-degree day. And the clerk had shot us with her forehead thermometer while we were still standing in the mid-afternoon Florida sun. Soon, the dawn of bureaucratic awakening broke, whereupon our screener moved us to the shade. Our officially recorded temperatures had subsided to 99.9°F, just below their threshold of 100°.

Were we qualified?

May and December

Masks, of course, were de rigueur throughout. The bride wore a gaily colored tie-died mask of cotton chiffon whilst the handsome groom was attired in basic black 2.5-micron cotton. It was slightly too small, but I want to see YOU find something big enough to cover this big turkey face!

The metal detector came next (magnetometer triggered by my hip replacement and brass blazer buttons), after which we proceeded to the appropriate window to pay. I mentioned that the marriage license costs about $90, but then I needed to pay another $30 for the executed marriage certificate and the County’s inconvenience. They won’t let you get married until you pay up. The clerk processed my credit card, then we waited in the hallway for another deputy clerk of the court to usher us outside to the sidewalk for the ceremony.

The Wedding

Although the courthouse has a variety of wedding chapels, due to the Covid-19 situation they were conducting weddings outside unless it rained. Jenny wanted an outdoor wedding anyway, but she hadn’t been considering the sidewalk leading up the steps to the courthouse on Hood Avenue in Sanford among candidate venues — not even in her wildest dreams! Ms. Baldwin, the deputy clerk, led us to a spot by a large oak tree. As we faced each other to exchange our vows, masks still in place, passers-by on their way to filing lawsuits were smiling at us.

We recited our vows, exchanged bands of gold, said our “I dos”, and were then permitted to drop our masks in defiance of the Seminole County Executive Order so I could kiss the bride. Being uncoordinated, this was too much simultaneous movement to process successfully. Thus, I inadvertently stepped on Jenny’s newly pedicured toes as I moved closer to kiss her. Jenny must have been as numb as I was because she said it didn’t hurt. Undaunted by my clumsiness, we happily basked in the glow of the newly established Mr. and Mrs. Nittany Turkey union. All’s well that ends well!

Ms. Baldwin went back into the courthouse to sign and seal our certificate. She gave us the option of waiting outside while she finalized it, and she said she would deliver the documents to as soon as she could. We put our masks back on while waiting.

“Why are you not wearing masks?”

We took some selfies with the masks on, but we needed to record some commemorative wedding pictures with our faces showing, so we temporarily doffed our masks to take a few more selfies. Just as we were finishing our photo session, a small, superannuated woman brusquely passed us on the sidewalk, admonishing us with the rhetorical question, “Why are you not wearing masks?!” Couldn’t this old biddie see that we had the masks in our hands? Way to spoil a wedding, Grandma!

Ahhh, but nothing could spoil the day — not even a busybody mask policewoman! We will be able to laugh about her for the rest of our days.

The Reception Followed

Ms. Baldwin returned and wished us well. We hied ourselves off to the reception: dinner for two at Hollerbach’s Willow Tree, a Bavarian beer hall on the main drag in Sanford, where we dined outdoors and were socially distanced at least nine bratwursts from the next table. We departed from our respective diets to enjoy some Würste und Wiener Schnitzel. For dessert, we shared a slice of traditional German chocolate wedding cake.

Upon learning of our joyful day, the management endowed us with a free shot of the schnapps of our choice. As Lithuanian boilo was not on the menu, we chose slivovitz.

Facebook Detectives Blew Our Cover

We decided to keep the furtive wedding secret until Saturday, when we announced the union to Jenny’s progeny. They set aside some time to gather with us via Zoom, as they all have momentous events going on in their lives. The oldest daughter, an RN who is married with two toddlers constantly toddling, is considering a move to bring her closer to our area. The middle daughter just graduated from University of South Florida last week and she is seeking to establish her career as a medical laboratory technician close to home. The youngest, the only male, has completed his high school career and is now in a period of existential musing. We were happy to share our joy with them and then send them on their merry way.

Of course, the cat was out of the bag prior to our intra-family announcement, thanks to Facebook “detectives”. Fortunately, it wasn’t Schrödinger’s cat, so we knew its exact state of being.

The Season Ahead (or some excuse for one)

Thanks for reading our story. Now, back to some blog business.

What lies ahead for the Nittany Lions and their loyal fans for the 2020 season? You all know by now that the schedule will be Big Ten only, but beyond that, will there be a tenth game? How will the Big Beave (sometimes known as Paterno Memorial Stadium) be configured? Will season ticketholders get a refund? Will Micah Parsons have a monster year?

These questions can only be addressed speculatively for now. Your guess is as good as mine. However, if you have any inside knowledge, please do share.

Meanwhile, I’ll be back to explore some of these things, offering the usual biased opinions and jaundiced take on the season. Plenty of time for that, as the first game (Northwestern) doesn’t happen until September 26.

I hope you are all coping well with our current pandemic situation. Please stay healthy and thanks for your readership!

Time Warp: 11 Years Later I’m Still Traumatized!

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I published the following post, entitled Time Warp, on March 23, 2007. It remains one of my all-time classics, describing one of the most traumatic of all my semi-annual daylight savings time clock adjustment fiascos.

We’ve come a long way since 2007. Computers in all our devices and appliances have a better understanding of what time it is now. Or do they?

So, harken back to my words of yesteryear as we once again face the pain of springing forward. [Read more…]