This morning, I decided to lay my woes on the mechanic at Tire Kingdom. I loaded Bebe in the backseat and arrived at the storefront at 8:35, a mere 25 minutes before they opened. I was the first car in line. The next vehicle, whose front tire was gasping for air, parked lopsided next to mine. The manager was inside sipping coffee and when I glanced inside, he raised his Styrofoam cup to me in a gesture of cheer. He recognized me, which is the beauty of being a frequent-flyer in a neighborhood establishment; it gives you the feeling that everything will be alright, no matter how irksome the problem.
At 8:45 he came out and quasi-diagnosed my problem with the smell of cheap coffee on his breath. I presented him with the saturated newspaper which acted as an overnight puppy-pad, capturing the errant fluid escaping the underside of my car and he mumbled "tranny fluid, not good." He moved on to the deflated tire and said when he opened at 9:00, he'd get us both in right away. He led us inside and started the paperwork. In the waiting room, a tele-preacher was reminding us to thank God for little things, and by thanking people, who are messengers from God, we're actually thanking God himself. I half-listened, but got distracted.
While he was typing our information into the computer, Bebe, still in the car, started doing her begging routine while barking her shrill, ear-piercing protests at being left alone. As I went to get her, a pencil-green, cheaply re-painted KIA-looking car screeched into the lot and parked directly in front of the door, not in a slot. Out stepped a flannel pajama-clad woman in a bath robe, with pink plastic curlers piled Carmen Miranda-style high atop her head. She was wearing gold flip-flops and had freshly painted cherry-red toe nails. I know this because there was still cotton stuffed between each toe. She was screaming Spanish into a cell phone while waving frantically to someone in a car which was apparently her ride home. She slammed the car door and oblivious to Bebe's tip-toe pleading dance, she stepped over the leash and barreled into Tire Kingdom. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat animals; this person was either entirely self-absorbed or hated animals. More than likely both.
With no greeting or introduction, she stepped to the front of the counter and said "You said there was only one other person in line! I'm in a hurry and have to be in Orlando by noon. I don't have anything done yet. I still need to get showered, put on my make-up and get dressed."
The manager smiled and asked what she needed. "I need my old rims replaced with the custom rims! How long will it take?" He explained that the shop didn't open until 9:00 and he'd get to it by 9:15 or so. It would take a little under two hours to complete. She blew a fit. Bebe laid flat to the floor and if she could, would have covered her ears with her paws. Curlers danced as she ranted half in English and half in Spanish. Her head bobbled so, that one of the rollers started to disentangle from her over-dyed hair and dangled like an earring. Then, the printer wouldn't print. Try as he might, the manager, who, by the way, did not understand Spanish, could not encourage the printer to spit out a sheet of paper before 9:00. He tried to calm her down to no avail. She said she'd fix the printer herself and tried to get behind the counter. Bebe barked right on cue. The woman turned her head so fast that the curler hanging by a thread, flew off her head and Bebe went for it! The woman screamed, "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" At this point, I had a giggle-fit. I had already envisioned Bebe with the pink curler in her mouth, but I snapped on her leash and she stopped barely an inch from the run-away roller.
By 9:00, the printer still was not cooperating. Curler-head was verbally abusing the manager. When her cell phone rang, she snapped at the caller and said "I do NOT have an attitude!" I snorted back a laugh too late and she looked at me and said "What are YOU laughing at, bitch?"
I said, "Watch it, lady..don't upset my Pit Bull." The manager cracked up and the woman took a double-take, gave me that "whatever" look and continued complaining to the caller about how she'd been here an hour already and the loser behind the counter can't even work a printer. She hung up and said she was going to leave her keys here and come back in an hour and her car better be done when she gets back. The manager said to just leave her keys on the counter and he'd get to it. She said "I ain't leaving keys to a Jaguar sitting on a counter! One of these people might steal it!" Did she say Jaguar?? I glanced outside, and sure enough, that miserable looking car was indeed a Jaguar! Ugly, dented, filthy inside and out. She left in a flash of pink and we all took a breath. The manager said, "What a piece of work! And, that Jaguar is nothing but a Ford with a cat on the hood."
Turns out my fluid leak was the result of a loose oil pan plug. I said "thank you" just like the tele-preacher advised and said a little prayer for the miserable witch with a faux entitlement complex just because she drives a fake foreign car. As I walked out the door, the manager said, "Nice Pit Bull, by the way!"
P.S. I later found out from the manager, that the rims "roller-babe" wanted put on her car were the wrong size. Guess what goes around, comes around and bites you in the butt. Gotta love karma.
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