For about ten days I've had a minor problem with my car. Whenever I turn, the signal indicator has been going berserk. Berserk! It clicks at about 100 mph and flashes at me repeatedly until I feel a strong need to put blinders on to block it out.
I thought both indicators were broken. (Do you call them signal indicators? Because I call them BLINKERS.) It was driving me (get it?) nuts. I must be a little OCD or something because I found it really annoying.
I started playing with my blinkers intentionally <blush> yesterday and that's when I realized only the right one was broken.
Do you play with your own blinkers too?
(Sorry, I couldn't resist! Can you tell I'm on pain meds? Only half of one pill, but it does affect my writing, don't ya think? Plus, it makes me get very cozy with parentheses! Also? I need to live up to my reputation as a SEX WRITER.)
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My week is overbooked so I had made no attempt to take my car in to get the blinker fixed. Also, because I'm so mechanical, I had decided my car must need a new fuse.
I had a car that needed a fuse once and now whenever something goes wrong, I assume my car needs a fuse. It's very reasonable.
Especially with blinky things.
Being a car mechanic is really not my thing.
I had just finished up with an appointment yesterday when I noticed a car dealership matching my car's very make across the street. I had a half hour to spare so I decided to drive over and beg them to change the fuse for me.
The guys who work at (most) car dealerships are vultures. I think I speak for the majority of women when I say we don't like being ogled as if we're naked when we show up to have our cars worked on. I'm an adult woman and it shouldn't make me uncomfortable, but it does. Car Men have the ability to strip off every ounce of clothing a woman wears with only their eyes. It's disconcerting.
(Not only that, they perform deviant sexual acts on us with their eyes too.)
Anyway, Car Man approached me upon my arrival. After checking out my cleavage, he asked me what he could do for me. I hopped into my car, turned it on and showed him the Blinker Gone Berserk.
"It needs a new fuse," I informed him.
"You need a new light bulb," he said.
A light bulb?
Apparently, my car is very smart. It is, in fact, much smarter than I am. It knew my front signaling light had burned out and it was going berserk trying to tell me. Unfortunately, no one ever taught me how to speak Blinker. We had a communication breakdown.
Car Man told me it would take about a half hour to change the light bulb. I agreed to wait, all the while wondering why it would take thirty minutes to change one effing light bulb.
I sat in the waiting area being ogled by more Car Men. I was the only woman there. I tried to act like I didn't notice the Car Men. I played with my Blackberry a lot. I kept pulling my top up to better cover my cleavage.
I have a theory: Less Cleavage = Fewer Car Men Hanging Around.
An hour later, Car Man reappeared and told me my car was being washed "as a courtesy" and it would be ready in ten minutes. I was tired of waiting, but hey – free car wash! The Money Town Car Wash costs $20. Waiting a few more minutes wouldn't be the end of the world. Who doesn't like to save twenty bucks?
A few other Car Men decided to take their break sitting just a few feet away from me. I ignored them. They stared lasciviously. You would think they'd never seen a female before. Honestly, is there a rule that you must be a boar of a man to be a Car Man?
Thirty minutes later I impatiently looked up from my Blackberry. Two Car Men remained seated across from me. They stared shamelessly as if I was stripped down naked for their entertainment. I'd had enough.
"Stop staring at me!" I said firmly, staring at them defiantly.
One of the men raised his eyebrows in surprise. He turned and looked at his friend.
"She doesn't like us looking at her," he said to Car Man #2.
Car Man #2 grinned, exposing his tobacco stained teeth.
"But she's purrrrrrrrdy!" said Car Man #2 with a grin.
I got up and walked out of the room.
I went to the cashier's office and asked if I could please pay and get my car. The cashier didn't have my paperwork yet. I waited for another twenty minutes while she tracked it down. Once she had my paperwork she informed me she needed my signature.
There was no charge for the new light bulb.
There was no charge for the two hours of "labor" it took to change the light bulb.
There was no charge for the car wash.
I lost two hours of my day. I left feeling a strong need for a shower. As I drove out of the car dealership on my way home, my signal indicator once again blinked at me calmly and lovingly.
An hour later, I was still wondering …
How many Car Men does it take to change one light bulb?
© Twenty Four At Heart