Jess yelled. “Are you crazy?” The young black man behind the high white counter remained calm, his face impassive. He was obviously used to such outbursts. “The bill is carefully itemized. If you’d care to take another look. …” “I’ve looked. I still don’t understand what could possibly have cost over four hundred dollars!” Jess realized that her voice was becoming dangerously shrill, that the other patrons of the auto body shop where she had taken her car to be serviced almost three weeks ago were staring at her. “There was a lot that had to be done,” the young man reminded her. “There was a windshield wiper!” “Both wipers, actually,” the man, whose name tag identified him as Robert, stated. “You recall we phoned you, told you that both would have to be replaced, along with the catalytic converter and the alternator,” Robert expanded patiently. “Your car hadn’t been serviced in some time.” “There was never any need.” “Yes, well, you were very lucky.
