|
|
|
I Am Exhausted So, I was driving around downtown the other day (well, not to suggest I was just aimlessly driving around in a circle, mouth agape, drool emitted in a slow trickle from my mouth) damn. O.K., I was in my car the other day, after replacing my "torn asunder by being kicked" muffler, when I heard this now familiar sound of a deafening roar that caused my entire car to vibrate, thusly attracting attention from miles around. It was accompanied by a loud, metallic scraping noise that made men, in particular, wince. That was actually quite amusing. As I looked frantically for a place to park, every where I drove, men looked at the car, looked at me, in the car, looked back at the car, and winced. Women, for the most part, did the "if I do not acknowledge this, it doesn't exist" thing. Men evinced some kind of aesthetic and physical pain from this horrible noise. This was one of many things that day that had me chuckling. I parked in front of this man who sat in his car with a look of absolute vexation on his face. He was so disconcerted that he waited for me to get out of my car and walk half way down the block before he would get out of his car. He stood and stared at my car, mortified, then stared down the block at me. I was, of course, standing there grinning, looking back at him. This heaped plenty on his bad day and he exited stage left as quickly as his legs would carry him. I was duly satisfied and continued on my way. After my appointment, I went to the abode of my beloved people, Jon and Ruth, as I was to pick up some books I was to review. A big, stack. I figured I could establish some kind of game plan from within this immensely warm and cave like place. With a one-year warranty on the painstaking and methodical work done on my exhaust system, I felt a call to the repair shop was in order. That done, I called my mommy and daddy. I knew driving around with a large scraping metal part sparking under my poor little Slally was not a good idea and Jon was not available for temporary fixes. Dad was on his way, my mom told me. I had some coffee. I played solitaire until I won and then it annoyed me. I played with the cats. I wandered aimlessly. I believe I actually hit my forehead upon Jon's large desk. Twice. My dad arrived. He wired up the offending pipe and we traveled north to the repair shop. In my mind, I chuckled again. They didn't know what they were in for. Now, a segue . . . I chuckled because I know what my family is like. If anyone does anything to hurt, annoy, anger, or otherwise ruffle the feathers of anyone, any of us cares about, the whole family (or an appointed avenger) swoops down to wreak havoc upon that bad, bad person. As individuals, we do the same. Do not mess with our people. We will hurt you. As an example, my brothers were playing ball in the playground by our old school, a few blocks from home. Some testosterone-laden bullies came by and took their ball. My brothers went home and told my mom. Her reaction? She grabbed a baseball bat, went down there and got their ball back. My sister and I have done the same for each other. Some brat on the school bus was calling my sister an icky name. He was not clever, but he was loud. She was annoyed. I was annoyed. I blustered my six-year old self up and went to the front of the bus. He was calling her Dianne Diarrhea. Witty. His attempt to annoy me was Jenny Penny. It was as if a little verbal gnat buzzed in my ear. I was really irritated. I waited for him to repeat his version of repartee and I sprung mine on him. "Chris Piss." I said it with the total conviction of the righteous. His mouth slammed shut and he looked to the bus driver for help. I had said a naughty word. The bus driver was in hysterics. Chris Piss would get no help there. Dianne was not above a quick right hand to anyone who messed with me. That's what we do. We take care of our people. By any means necessary. Anyway . . . We arrived at the repair shop with all the fanfare due a car making that much freaking noise. I walked in and within seconds someone was taking my keys and driving my little baby in to be "fixed". My dad followed seconds later and, after a brief round of pacing, went in to the shop, right past the "authorized personnel only" sign. He watched them weld the piping into the housing. He then stood at the counter and made Mr. Mechanic Guy write down on my warranty, all the work that had done since the first "installation". He wanted the mechanic to write down gruesome details of every repair and then, sign and date. Mr. Mechanic Guy was obliged. I, meanwhile, was hanging out with this completely cute kid who was full of joy, reciting her first learned letters. She could have redefined cuteness, she was so cute. She was asking me if I brushed my teeth. I said yes, twice a day. She was very pleased to here this. With all of our serious business now attended to, I waved good-bye to my newfound friend, and we were off. My car was blissfully quiet. I smiled all the way home. Ultimately, it takes very little to make me happy. And, with this in mind, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes:
I wonder why it's anonymous? Oh, well. Jennifer Jordan |
|