Friday, June 20, 2008

Stan The Man

Sometimes it ain't easy being me. It takes a lot of fortitude to behave in a slightly superior, slightly smarter, slightly cuter, sort of way all of the time. My piercing glare and "You must be too stupid breathe,” looks of death were perfected years ago. Most times this is all it takes to convince the public of my self -declared eminence.

As you might imagine, there is a downside to being a Snooty Mc Bitchy pants all the time. Occasionally, I am wrong. Sometimes there is a visible chink in my "Don't You Dare Fuck with Me" armor. Once in a great while I totally show my ass, then quickly live to regret it.

Case in point: On Tuesday morning I relented to the whining of my miracle of German engineering automobile and took it to the repair shop after reading the "brake pad wear visit workshop" warning light at least a dozen times. "Fine Dammit, I will take you to the workshop. Stop the incessant complaining already." I think this car prefers the company of mechanics to mine. It seems that every month there is some new illuminated threat of mechanical apocalypse adorning the fancy LED enhanced dashboard.

I think it is important to point out that the repair shop in question is a national chain that recently mailed me a $1900 refund check for $600 of repairs that in my uneducated, but 100% committed to proving I was right opinion, were unnecessary. Why take the annoying crybaby car back to the very same place that only weeks earlier I had threatened to expose for their unfair treatment of poor, single, helpless in all things boy related, women? Because they already know, I am a bitch. They would not dare screw with me again.

$500, two new brake pads, and rotors later, the traumatized Store Manager breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled out of the driveway of his establishment.

On the way home, I rolled down the window to rid the car of the lingering odor of scared auto techs. Working in 100 degree weather. I noticed a kthunk...kthunk...kthunk sound that I chose to completely ignore.

By Wednesday morning, all memory of the prior day’s events had been erased from my more important things to think about mind. The odor of fear and axle grease persisted. Again, I rolled down the window. Again, kthunk...kthunk...kthunk. I accelerated...kthunkkthunkkthunkkthunk. SHIT!

I pulled to the side of the road walked around the car and there it was, a nail in the back tire. My first thought? "Oh, They Didn't...They Wouldn't Dare! They will pay! Those ABC Tire and Brake lackeys will rue the day they screwed with the Queen!"

To be continued...



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