I recently bought a new car that had a faulty light. When, after five visits to the dealer’s shop, they were unable to fix it, I tried to get it replaced by threatening to use my state’s lemon laws. My calls and letters to the dealer got me nowhere.
I went to a florist, ordered a fruit basket filled with lemons and sent it to the dealer with this poem:
"When I drive my lemon, I’ll be thinking of you.
Pretty soon, my attorney will too."
A short time later the dealer called and asked what color I’d like my new car to be.
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