Doesn't Make For A Good Story...

I awoke this morning ready for battle.  I drank extra coffee because I figured that the caffeine couldn't hurt and the extra pressure on the bladder might give me more of an irritated sort of demeanor.  I wore my "good" jeans.

And, in the end, none of it was really necessary.  Not really.  

The recent situation involving my new car and its suddenly showing tire wear consistent with a '75 Chevette that had never seen the inside of a garage in its entire life had me just about crazy.  I was further irked to receive an estimate for repairs given that I have already put several people's kids through at least a semester of college at the service center and thought it was high time they ate the cost of their "workmanship."  I stated clearly and without reservation that I would not be paying for their recommended tire replacement and alignment and that was that.

They, in turn, agreed to "take a look at it."  Given that, when the cost was coming out of my account the tires were deadly weapons which might take me out at highway speeds but were now merely worthy of "a look," I figured I'd need my best grumpy face.  And good knitting.  I grabbed some sock yarn and the sharpest dpns I could find and headed out.

Frankly, I was a little disappointed.  We only came close to the scene I was planning on having in the middle of the showroom twice.  The first tense moment occurred when I, despite having agreed to ask for a specific person when I arrived (we'll call her A), did not do that.  A is a former student of mine and I dreaded putting her in a situation that might lead to her reliving middle school due to my shrieking.  That's therapy just waiting to happen.  I was pleased to see that N was there.  She's treated me fairly over the years and I knew she'd do the same this time.  I thought I was doing a good thing when I bypassed A.  What actually happened was a sniping match between N and A due to N not knowing the situation and "feeling stupid" because A failed to put it in the computer.  This is probably why she said, in response to my questioning why they were only going to "take a look" at my car something along the lines of how this was just procedure and nothing I really needed to know about.

I said that I believed I had the right to know everything so she told me... and you know what?  She was right.  I concede the point.  The theory behind looking at the car was just about the most boring procedural event in recorded history and nothing I cared about.  Not even one little bit.  And I admitted my fault to N without reservation.  I like N.  She's cool.  I can admit fault.

My terms were agreed to without incident, however the tires were not available right away.  I was prepared to start fussing because I was all geared up for fussing and the coffee was starting to kick in, but A was already grabbing her purse and keys to drive me home personally.  

(And, if you don't think that it is weird being chauffeured home by a kid you last saw at age twelve and having to hear all about her upcoming vacation with her husband then you just can't appreciate weird.)

I spent a leisurely day at home napping, watching TV and making chocolate sorbet.

I can't believe I'm going to say this...but it is actually too chocolaty.  Crazy, I know!

The second incident almost occurred when I went to pick up my car.  The trusty staff finished washing it and then came in with my keys.  They were presented to me with the words, "Here you go, Honey."  Having had little else to complain about today, I figured I could launch into a nice feminist-rage based tantrum just so the whole morning of preparation wasn't wasted.

Then I happened to take a closer look at the Key Master and decided that I'd suffer through the whole "honey" thing.  I guess there are worse things than taking the Honey Bullet under certain circumstances.  I'll be OK.  Honey is fine.  I like honey.  

(And anyone who cares to point out that the Key Master is young enough to be my son can expect a sound beating about the head and shoulders.  You will also not be invited to the wedding.  And you'll be really sorry when that happens because I'm pretty sure that his mom is going to let us bring his X-Box to the reception and that's gonna be wicked cool. ) 

So I got my car fixed for free, had it washed, got called honey under acceptable circumstances and now I don't know what to do.  All that preparation.  All that pent up rage.  All that coffee.  I'm not quite sure just where to expend all my righteous indignation.

Maybe it's time to start a new lace project.  That always seems to bring up some rage.  I dunno.  I'm sort of at a loss here...

SA