As of today, I've been at my current job for six months. One added benefit of the job is the fact that my place of employment is just a stone's throw away* from the dealership where I bought my car and where I take it to be serviced. This means that, on any particular day, I could drop my car off for an oil change, a wheel alignment, or for installation of a couple of new tires and not have to ride the dealership shuttle back to work. Handy.
*Editor's note: This terminology was used to add color to this Writing, but is not meant to be taken literally. Unless said stone is being thrown by some sort of giant with a very strong arm or the stone features a jet-propulsion system, hitting the dealership with a stone thrown from my office (or vice versa) would be impossible. Should you ever get in a post-Apocalyptic rock fight with someone who takes shelter in the shaken remains of one of these two buildings, please pay heed to this information. The Writings: Your source for advice on potential post-Apocalyptic rock fights.
Through the wonder of foreshadowing, you may have come to the conclusion that I took advantage of this very situation today. You, dear reader, are correct.* In fact, my car can now show off the new oil, aligned wheels, and new tires mentioned above. (My bank account balance can show far too much evidence of this, as well.)
*Please, don't get cocky about being able to predict outcomes from my mundane life. I am, quite possibly, more predictable than the female-oriented flims (read: chick flicks) that my mom loves to view on the Hallmark Channel. (You mean the charming, hunky dream guy ended up choosing the quirky, slightly nerdy, career-oriented girl-next-door with whom he shared awkward sexual tension throughout the film instead of the hot-but-bitchy selfish woman that is out to ruin the first girl's career, exterminate all the puppies in the pet store, and end Christmas? No way!)
At the end of the work day, I journeyed back to the dealership to pick up my car. My route included a trip through an adjoining car lot featuring nothing but used vehicles. My mission was simple: get to the dealership, pay for my car service without throwing a key-chucking tantrum concerning the price, and leave. I was focused; so focused that I did not even glance at a used vehicle as I marched toward my destination. I'm sure I had the look of a very determined person. Nonetheless, as I neared the dealership, I heard the following shout, "Hey! Do you need anything?"
I stayed on my track, but glanced over my shoulder to see who was concerned with my presence. I saw a short man, balding with the type of gut that gives the impression that a man appreciates bacon in an unhealthy manner. He stood in the doorway of the small building that houses the salesmen of the used vehicles that I had steadfastly ignored. Apparently he was checking to see if I wanted to turn around, engage in small talk, peruse the used vehicles that I had just zipped by without a second glance, find a car I liked, waffle about buying it, decide to buy it, go sit in his tiny building, negotiate a price, threaten to walk out without purchase, agree on a price, get my credit approved, sign loads of paperwork, and ultimately leave with the burden of more car payments. Oddly, those activities were not on my evening agenda. I shouted back that I was in no need of his assistance, but just heading to pick up my car. Then, I kept moving.
Today's thought: If you are so desperate to sell a car that you resort to hollering out the doorway of your workplace - like a mother trying to get her children inside for dinner - at someone who has ignored your merchandise and is clearly using your lot as a byway to another destination, perhaps it's time to considering checking the Help Wanted section of the classified ads.
*Editor's note: This terminology was used to add color to this Writing, but is not meant to be taken literally. Unless said stone is being thrown by some sort of giant with a very strong arm or the stone features a jet-propulsion system, hitting the dealership with a stone thrown from my office (or vice versa) would be impossible. Should you ever get in a post-Apocalyptic rock fight with someone who takes shelter in the shaken remains of one of these two buildings, please pay heed to this information. The Writings: Your source for advice on potential post-Apocalyptic rock fights.
Through the wonder of foreshadowing, you may have come to the conclusion that I took advantage of this very situation today. You, dear reader, are correct.* In fact, my car can now show off the new oil, aligned wheels, and new tires mentioned above. (My bank account balance can show far too much evidence of this, as well.)
*Please, don't get cocky about being able to predict outcomes from my mundane life. I am, quite possibly, more predictable than the female-oriented flims (read: chick flicks) that my mom loves to view on the Hallmark Channel. (You mean the charming, hunky dream guy ended up choosing the quirky, slightly nerdy, career-oriented girl-next-door with whom he shared awkward sexual tension throughout the film instead of the hot-but-bitchy selfish woman that is out to ruin the first girl's career, exterminate all the puppies in the pet store, and end Christmas? No way!)
At the end of the work day, I journeyed back to the dealership to pick up my car. My route included a trip through an adjoining car lot featuring nothing but used vehicles. My mission was simple: get to the dealership, pay for my car service without throwing a key-chucking tantrum concerning the price, and leave. I was focused; so focused that I did not even glance at a used vehicle as I marched toward my destination. I'm sure I had the look of a very determined person. Nonetheless, as I neared the dealership, I heard the following shout, "Hey! Do you need anything?"
I stayed on my track, but glanced over my shoulder to see who was concerned with my presence. I saw a short man, balding with the type of gut that gives the impression that a man appreciates bacon in an unhealthy manner. He stood in the doorway of the small building that houses the salesmen of the used vehicles that I had steadfastly ignored. Apparently he was checking to see if I wanted to turn around, engage in small talk, peruse the used vehicles that I had just zipped by without a second glance, find a car I liked, waffle about buying it, decide to buy it, go sit in his tiny building, negotiate a price, threaten to walk out without purchase, agree on a price, get my credit approved, sign loads of paperwork, and ultimately leave with the burden of more car payments. Oddly, those activities were not on my evening agenda. I shouted back that I was in no need of his assistance, but just heading to pick up my car. Then, I kept moving.
Today's thought: If you are so desperate to sell a car that you resort to hollering out the doorway of your workplace - like a mother trying to get her children inside for dinner - at someone who has ignored your merchandise and is clearly using your lot as a byway to another destination, perhaps it's time to considering checking the Help Wanted section of the classified ads.
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