At Gregg Young Auto the showroom beams, Sales folks sparkle like chrome-bright dreams- Warm hellos,…read moresmooth talk, polished grace, they make buying feel like a winning race. But step beyond that cheerful door, where engines groan and spirits sore- The service bay, a realm undone, where hope goes missing one by one. And there stands Amber, villain supreme, A fictional tyrant from a customer's nightmare dream; Her cape of chaos flaps in the breeze, her glare could make a carburetor freeze. She doesn't walk---she storms the floor, Boots of doom echoing more and more; Clipboards tremble. mechanics hide, Even the air tries to slip outside. Amber the Terrible, Amber the Dire, fueled by caffeine and unholy fire; She laughs at schedules, mocks your plea, her smile a threat you can almost see. She'll charge you boldly, with wicked delight For work undone, for bolts left tight; A phantom tune-up, a ghostly repair, A bill for things that were never there. She rewrites invoices with villainous flair, adds mystery fees pulled out of thin air; "Shop supplies,""labor," "miscellaneous doom"- You leave with a bill and a sense of g|oom. And let it be known, carved in stone and cement: Her reputation is legendary-"and this is not a compliment. Sales may shine like a summer day, But Amber turns service into a cabaret-" A circus of chaos, a comedy of dread, where logic flees and patience is shed Gregg Young Auto-two worlds collide: One full of charm, one rough to ride. Yet even villains can someday fade, even wicked reigns can be unmade- Perhaps one day the service bay Will match the warmth of the sales display,
