My Smart--the apple of my eye!--the cream in my coffee!--the head on my beer!--the hole from my donut!
My poor little Smart got real sick, and the only people I have to blame are the filthy French.
While traveling late one night from A to B (A being beautiful Old Chinatown; B being character-filled Parkdale), my lovely fiancee by my side, the Smart's dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree and lost all special braking control.
To many, this might have been cause for alarm; having piloted the Heart of Darkness (my '69 Fairlane Ranchero), where braking control could never be taken for granted, this was just par for the course.
Over the course of 11 days, my Smart's diagnosis from the Service Department at Downtown Mercedes-Benz went from "minor" to "critical failure"--the Old Yeller type of critical failure--and a "minor seal problem" led to "total wiring overhaul".
As the Smart was birthed in France, I say "J'accuse!". Thanks in part to what I suspect was an unscheduled croissant and wine break while the Foreman was away, my Smart got a bellyache that led to some pretty major replacements.
I'm surprised, as the French have a long history of working very well with the Germans.
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