This morning I took the car to the oil change place and when I walked into the lounge area I noticed a 20-something woman looking like she was getting over last night and a man in his 50s wearing a pair of green chinos that really should not be worn anymore especially with a tie and wingtips. Man, those pants should only be used on the weekends when you are working around the house. I assessed the scene for a split second and greedily took a seat near the door. I say greedily because you never know when you’ll have to bolt out of there.
Shortly thereafter, I get called out to discuss my car and when I come back my greedy chair is still empty. I sit down and continue to look out into the garage bay. The 20-something continues to hunch over with her hands really stretching her face and her permed hair falling over into her face. Not exactly a good look, but one I’m familiar with.
The guy with the bad pants leaves (after thoroughly checking out his receipt–dude, they tell you what they are going to do, don’t act all shocked that there’s a price). Some other man comes in and sits near me. He starts reading the paper. I think this is excellent. Everyone is here early and they don’t feel like bugging anyone with pointless conversation. It is as close to bliss as you’ll find at the oil change place. Of course, you can practically hear the foreshadowing music queuing up.
In walks Grandpa with his light colored shorts, dark knee-length socks and his dark shoes. Oh how I wish I was making this up but the cliché just walked right in unbidden. He stands for a moment with a ridiculous grin on his face and checks us out. I can see the thought bubble over his head “what a group.” I keep staring out into the garage even though my neck is actually starting to bother me from being in that position so long. I refuse to make eye contact with him. He’s already under my skin and I know it’s only going to get worse.
One of the mechanics comes in and tells hung-over girl that her car is fine but they recommend high mileage oil. She declines. I know this is Grandpa’s opening. Sure enough he steps right in and starts letting all of us know that we’re all going to get asked about that oil so that “these people” can up-sell us. I hold my breath, knowing that now is the time where either my fellow lounge sitters will chime in and our blissful silence will be shattered, or they’ll ignore him. Thankfully, we all ignored him and he shut up.
My car was finished shortly after that and I, happily, left with my confidence in man slightly restored.