The Oil Change Saga Continues

I'm taking a trip after Christmas. It's going to be a long one; the first long one I've taken in my beautiful new car. I want it to be in the best possible condition for taking said trip, it's like an athlete you know, you've got to make sure it's warmed up, trained, full of fluids, and . . . vacuumed out?

Anyway, that means a trip to the local Speed Lube and a visit with my least favorite and most inappropriate mechanic.

He was there, as he always is. They opened the back doors and waved me in. As soon as I stepped out of the car he told me to turn around, get back into it and go home - they were closed. I smiled uncertainly and hesitantly re-opened my car door. He rolled his eyes, murmured something I couldn't hear and flipped up my hood. I head inside to the waiting room only to find the heat off and the plastic lawn chairs that normally adorn the room MIA. I head back into the garage where the warm air pours down from the ceiling.

I have been effectively trapped into watching my car get her oil changed and chatting with HIM while it happens. I pull out my iPhone and pretend to be very busy and important. He snidely comments that iPhones are "fucking pieces of junk, but you must collect junk since you're driving a Pontiac."

I look justifiably horrified and am unsure what I'm supposed to say in reply. Not only am I unhealthfully obsessed with my phone, but I'm also in a special kind of love with my beautiful 2008 Pontiac Vibe (we're coming up on our year anniversary in January!!!!).

I point out that this car has rave reviews from Consumer Reports, was manufactured on the Toyota assembly line, and has been nothing but fabulous since the day I got it.

He goes off on a tangent about foreign cars.

I try to change to conversation back to something I'm more comfortable talking about, Scarlett Johannson. I know from previous experience that he's a fan and I'm more willing to talk about the "screwability" of a starlet than about how my taste in cars and electronics bites the big one.

This conversation somehow morphs into a diatribe from him about how he IS NOT attracted to any males and is as NON-GAY as you can get. In fact, he isn't even attracted to himself. He doesn't think he's good looking at all and would never "do" himself.

I go back to talking about cars.

How is this dude the manager? I'll give the guy the benefit of the doubt and assume that most of what he was saying was supposed to be a joke, but even as one long joke it's a horrifying way to communicate.

I may end up making these bi-monthly visits into bi-monthly blogs as well. I had intended on never going back to this particular place, but it's a gold mine of awkwardness.