The Midas Touch

6.3.2016


I took the Jeep over to the rip-off artist ... er ... the garage for an oil change and regular maintenance and ended up leaving it overnight, because they were busy ripping off other customers and I wasn't in a big hurry to get my not-leaking power steering hose swapped out. 

So when I went back to pay and pick up my Jeep I noticed another customer also waiting.  He was hovering over his piece-of-shit van while a mechanic was tearing something out of it.  He had dirty blond, shoulder-length hair tied in a ponytail, a stained T shirt, gym shoes and tube socks and most notably, sky blue terrycloth shorts.  He was jabbering away on his cell, presumably with someone who knew about his van's problems and was collaborating on the teardown/repair.  He was not quiet.

I stepped into the office, paid for my unnecessary parts and labor and the attendant went to retrieve my keys.  I overheard the guy on his phone screaming into it:  "The serial number is WHERE?  Did you say on the hose?  We didn't remove the hose!!  What?  I should be able to see it?  Okay!  Hang on!"

The attendant handed me my keys and I left the office.  I glanced over to the guy on the phone and he was in a very awkward pose:  His knees were bent and he was squatting not unlike a quarterback under center.  His right elbow was jutting out as he held his phone tightly to his head.  With his left hand he held a flashlight as he peered into the engine compartment.

He said, "Three-five-zero-A as in ... apple!  One-seven-J as in ... " a second or two went by before he came up with, "Jerk!"

350A17J as in "jerk."  I laughed. 

Tonight - Iron & Gold
(Go Dubs!!) 


bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!