December 15, 2025

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I always expect businesses to perform as advertised. If I didn't, why would I pay to join services before testing them? Why would I drive to their location expecting to buy or shop or dine or leave items for repair?

I am rarely disappointed. The little watch-repair business which even my GPS couldn't find (I had to drive into a shopping center on another street to find it in the back corner) turned out to be superb. Unfortunately, they retired and closed up shop within the year. Not my fault -- I brought them all my watches! I just couldn't make the repairman younger.

If I'm driving along and I notice a sign and stop in, I don't have high or low expectations. I'm just exploring. Sometimes I find a gem, sometimes I find a clinker, but ... not worth writing about.

I remember, when we often rented a beach house on Ocean Isle, that I was hungry and, knowing the paucity of good restaurants on the island, I stopped at a Mexican restaurant on the mainland just before crossing over. It was, bar none, the worst "Mexican" food I had ever tasted. It was as if the owners had never tasted Mexican food, in or out of Mexico. They hadn't even seen pictures of Mexican food. Everything was deep-fried. It was, in short, everything detestable about Southern cooking, pretending to be Mexican.

But I was only disappointed because I had been California-trained in my childhood to expect Mexican-American cooking to rise to a certain standard, not because I had heard any positive reviews of that particular place. So even if Yelp had existed then (forty years ago), I wouldn't have written an outraged review. Because I wasn't outraged. Just mildly disappointed. I never went back. I would be shocked if the place was still in business.

That experience, among many, led me to decide never to go into food service, not even by buying into a solid franchise, because so much can go wrong, and the whims of the public can suddenly abandon a once-successful restaurant.

So in this column I'm not reviewing restaurant disappointments. I'm reviewing much-vaunted services that have a very good reputation.

Two experiences, one with Angie's List (now Angi.com) and the other with the American Automobile Association (AAA), are my topic. I acknowledge right here that both are almost certainly fine organizations that strive to do well within the niche they have identified.

When my parents got old, living in a modest house in Orem, Utah, my older sister, who lived with them and saw to their needs, began to find that the yard was too much for her. I realized that she needed what we already had, here in Greensboro, North Carolina: a reliable yard service. Surely there were such businesses in Utah Valley.

By that time, however, the Yellow Pages had ceased to exist, at least as part of a phone book. So, having heard of Angie's List, I went online, paid the fee, and joined. I looked up yard-maintenance services in Utah County, Utah.

There was only one company listed. I was surprised at this. Maybe only one such enterprise had met Angie's List's high standards. Maybe everybody in Utah had their yards maintained by nearby relatives or kids with lawn mowers in the neighborhood.

I called the company. Got an answering machine. So I left a number and an explanation -- my number was outside the 801 area code, but I would be paying for service in my parents' yard in Orem.

I never got a call back.

Not long after, we found that there are many yard service enterprises in Utah County, and my sister chose one that she liked. We paid, as planned, and they did good work until my parents passed away and my sister, who inherited the house, sold it and moved to a nice little house in Cache County to be near our younger sister and her family.

Angie's List provided a good, much-needed service, to direct people who were unfamiliar with the neighborhood to reputable providers of the services they needed. Maybe they hadn't yet spread to Utah with the thoroughness that they have shown elsewhere. Maybe they were misled in believing that the one company they listed actually existed and wanted more trade.

But that was the one and only time I have ever attempted to use Angie's List. They have competitors now, nationwide, but I haven't tried any of them, either, for the simple reason that we have lived in Greensboro since 1983, and my wife has built up an amazing list of "Guys" whom we rely on for every imaginable service.

I was honest with my wife when we married. I told her, right up front, that if any skilled services were needed, we would hire a professional to do it, instead of paying for the repairs that would be needed if I made the attempt myself.

I mowed our own lawns back then -- I actually enjoyed it, and for a while I used an unmotorized lawn mowing machine because I needed the exercise. But that was in Utah, where an abandoned lawn becomes a dirt patch in a single summer.

In North Carolina, any land left unmowed becomes a lawn (or, to be accurate, a lush meadow) for the year it takes for the tree seedlings to become too thick of trunk for a mower to handle. North Carolina is, by nature, an aspiring rain forest. Our annual precipitation averages almost exactly the same depths as Seattle or Florida. (I was born in eastern Washington and still have family there; eastern Washington is even drier than central Utah, so you can't find an informative average for the whole state.)

So we went through several yard services before finding the excellent, reliable, intelligent guys who do the job now. But we use a different tree service to remove what must be removed, and save what can be saved. We have a plumbing service that does a great job -- as long as they don't send their "best plumber," a Russian who insultingly tells us how stupid we are, not realizing that my ignorance is precisely the reason why we needed a plumber in the first place. He was never welcome a second time.

We have a contractor who oversees all construction at our house, even when the work is being done by somebody else -- like the elevator installation that began before Thanksgiving and now is being completed. Our contractor has actually retired, but he long ago became a friend, so he stays in business just enough to help us make sure everything is being done right.

You get the idea? We have our own list now. It's one of the reasons we don't even contemplate moving, even though a writer can live anywhere. My wife does not want to start making a list of guys-we-trust all over again. It took forty years to develop the list we have. It's hard enough when various doctors, dentists, electricians, etc., have the temerity to retire and/or die (death is, after all, the ultimate retirement plan), and we have to find a new provider.

We've been fortunate, in that we usually have the recommendation of the previous provider when we begin the search for a replacement. That wouldn't apply if we changed counties, let alone states, of residence.

But sometimes a service only helps if it's national.

We have our garage service, Steve's BP at Friendly Center, plus the dealership where we bought each vehicle. We are very loyal. When Ford dropped the dealership we trusted and forced us to rely on a Ford dealership in High Point -- a city still in the same county, but a long, inconvenient drive from our house -- we stopped buying Fords, and now buy Hyundais from the same guys at the same dealership that used to be Ford, because our trust is in the people, not the name.

But we tend to drive long distances from time to time, and sometimes we need an auto mechanic on the road. So for years we have assiduously maintained our membership in Triple-A (AAA).

So a couple of years ago, after taking part in a conference in Austin, Texas, I drove up to Dallas to visit with my daughter and her family. I was driving my brand new Hyundai Santa Fe, which I had purchased because it had Lane Assist, so even if I dozed off momentarily on the road, the car would stay in its lane, while Collision Avoidance would keep me from crashing into anybody.

I had only had the car for about a week; this trip was the road test. My wife had driven to Texas with me, but flew home in order to teach her class Monday morning.

So there I was in my daughter's home, and she and her husband urged me to stay overnight. They knew that I hated staying in other people's houses, so they suggested a nearby motel. I knew -- KNEW -- that they were right. But at that moment I wasn't feeling sleepy, and I was driving a car that was safer and smarter than I was. Why not leave at six p.m. and try to get to Shreveport before checking into a hotel and catching some sleep?

Here's the thing about Lane Assist. It depends on highway striping to detect the edges of the lane. So near the metropolis of Kilgore, Texas, (a name that stuck in my mind because Kilgore Trout was the name of the fictitious sci-fi writer in Kurt Vonnegut's works) there was road construction. A set of concrete barriers had been set up just inside the left-hand lane. In the process, however, nobody had thought to paint a white line to mark the left boundary of the lane.

I woke up because the side of my car hit and rebounded from that concrete barrier. Lane Assist had done its job because I never actually left my lane. Good design and engineering on my Korean-made car also did its job, because there was no mark on that side.

Needless to say, the collision and rebound kind of woke me up. I took the very next exit, crossed over the freeway, and parked in the parking lot of a large store which was still open. I then took out my handy mobile phone and called the number printed on my Triple-A card.

A very nice woman answered, heard my tale of woe, and promised me that a tow truck would be there in just a few minutes. (I knew a tow was needed because something sounded wonky underneath the car.)

"A few minutes" became forty-five before I called again. I was told that yes, a tow service had been contacted, but their truck was out on another call. I pointed out that there ought to be some other tow service that they could call, and she promised to do so.

Another forty-five minutes and the big store was about to close. I went inside and asked for their consent to leave my car parked overnight in their lot. Then I called Uber, whose driver did come in just a few minutes. I loaded my bags into the car and he took me to a motel in Kilgore, where I spent the night.

The next day I looked up local dealerships on my computer, found the nearest Hyundai dealer, and arranged for the tow truck driver to pick me up first and then go retrieve my car. Everything worked out fine.

Except that I had to leave the car for at least a week, waiting for a part. So, again using my laptop, I located a Hertz rental car place and they came and picked me up. Then I drove my rented car home to Greensboro. When my car was fully repaired, my brother-in-law flew to Dallas and drove my car home from the Hyundai dealership.

What are the lessons I learned from this?

First, don't be an idiot. Get some sleep before you drive.

Second, listen to smart people when they tell you to get some sleep before you drive.

Third, cars are a lot smarter than they used to be, but they can't outperform an alert driver because roads aren't all the same.

Fourth, sometimes you have to leave your car a thousand miles behind and trust the mechanics to do a good job. Which they did, and for a fair price.

Fifth, there are nice people everywhere. Kind, responsible, skilled, generous, honest.

Sixth, Triple-A has countless examples of coming through for a traveler in need of a tow. But I am not one of them. After all these years of paying my dues, Triple-A promised to help, told me help was on the way, and let me down.

I was disappointed. Not angry. I know the dispatcher almost certainly did not lie to me. Probably everybody meant well as they let me down in a big way. But there are only so many times you can tell me "just a few minutes" and have me continue to wait. Triple-A failed. Uber came through.

Have I canceled my Triple-A membership? Of course not. Their lapses are probably few and far between, and maybe, if there's a next time I'm in need, they'll come through.

And, if not, there are usually alternate sources of aid. Starting with family and friends. For instance, if I had been broke and unable to pay for a hotel room, I could have contact somebody in the local LDS congregation, and I know -- KNOW -- that someone would have come to my aid and put me up for the night. They couldn't tow my car, of course, but I would have made it through the night.

Failing that, I could have called my wife, and she would have arranged for help for me. It was my own decision not to bother her or my daughter, because I wasn't broke, I could pay for an Uber and a hotel room and get the car towed in the morning.

Or (my first thought) I could have slept in my car.

See? Triple-A did not harm me in any way, except for leave me listening to my audiobook in the store parking lot for a couple of hours. Much more comfortable than a jab in the ribs with a stick. So please, don't think that I'm mad at Triple-A or that I would leave a negative review on Yelp. I still don't have any opinion of Triple-A, except that I assume their good reputation is well-earned. My negative example is not typical. Give 'em a break.

Disappointments happen in life.

But sometimes there are wonderful surprises.

I deal with bad balance issues. It's why I now walk with a cane. But in that motel, where I stayed two nights, I learned I was in walking distance from a good restaurant. And my legs were fine -- I could walk.

There was no sidewalk along the busy highway, but the restaurant was on the same side of the highway as the motel. I got there, had a good meal at a fair price, and then I started to walk home.

It was getting late in the afternoon and the sky wasn't sunny. On the return trip, traffic was much heavier in the oncoming lanes. I came to a spot where there was a break in the shoulder, where water had carved a mini-gorge.

Even a few years before, I could have stepped right over it. But I didn't trust my balance to allow that step now. Without a cane at that time, I had nothing to brace myself on. And if I fell, then it would take EMTs to get me back on my feet.

What does an old man do when he doesn't want to fall and is ashamed that he can't get past an obstacle that would be trivial for a five-year-old?

I sat down.

I must have looked pathetic. I know I looked old and forlorn. Because along comes a car and parks on the shoulder right across that mini-gulch from me.

Several old ladies got out of the car and walked over and asked if I needed help. I said yes, please. They helped me rise to my feet and steadied me as I crossed that pathetic little barrier. Then they got me into the car, turned several times, and took me back to my motel.

They had been driving on the other side of the highway when they saw me, and having compassion, they inconvenienced themselves by maneuvering to my side of the road, in the opposite direction. They could have thought, "Somebody going the other direction will notice him and help," but in fact anybody who noticed me would have been well past me before they could stop. So they decided that I was their job, on this road that did not lead to Jericho.

I did not insult them by offering payment. Clearly money was not their motivator. Instead, I gave them my heartfelt gratitude, and listened as they told me just a bit about why they were on the road together.

These were black ladies in northeastern Texas, so I did not have to ask them if they were Christians, because they bore witness almost as soon as we started talking. And you know what? I would have known they were Christians anyway, because they walked the walk. They acted out the parable for a beleaguered old white man beside the road.

This was on the same trip, during the same adventure, when Triple-A failed me. When my balance failed me too, kind people passing in a car took pity on me and came through, giving help unasked-for. You can't tell me how awful the world is, because those ladies were, and I hope still are, in it.

You can't destroy this nation yet, Lord, because good people are still pretty thick on the ground, eager to offer their hands, their time, and their hearts to those who need help. My job is to live by the same script.