The Awkward Turtle

There are two lights that send shivers down my spine when they come on. First, is the light on my car indicating that I am low on gas. This is always frustrating because I always think back to the last time I filled up and argue to myself or my car that it wasn't that long ago. Then the haunting feeling of price paid for said gas. Sounding much like the iconic grandpa character, I say something like, "I remember back in 2001 when I paid .89 cents a gallon." But in all honesty, 2001 wasn't that long ago. I digress. The second of these lights that cause nausea is the oil light on my dashboard which indicates that I need to change the oil. When I got into my car yesterday morning, both of these lights came on. It was the perfect storm.

Let it be known that I do know how to change my own oil. It is one of those things that dad taught to me in my younger years. But something that dad also taught me was that unless you have time to spend, better to let someone else change your oil. Well for me yesterday, I didn't have the time. I knew what must be done. I also knew that there is only one place between my house and work that changes oil; enter Jiffy Lube.

There are very few establishments in this society that I feel an absolute loathing for at the mere mention of a name. Nothing makes me feel less like a man than having another man work on my car. It is as if in our society there was this code that was given to all men saying, "You are to work on your own car and watch ESPN and to enjoy both." I missed this code completely. In fact, when men are gathered together talking about sports, in my head it is like watching a foreign film without subtitles. Needless to say, the auto shop isn't quite my scene.

Whenever I know that I am going to get my oil change, I rehearse to myself in the car. I try to think of questions that I will be asked and to rehearse my response, "No thank you" which translated means, "I am not sure, but I think you trying to scam me." It is always the same scenario. The mechanic, Shiesty McGee, attempts to give me a long detailed explanation of how my car may or may not blow up if I don't get the supreme oil. It is usually demonstrated on a computer that displays a chart that places my car in the red zone. I don't know much about cars, but I do know that you are to stay away from the red zone. Shiesty McGee then explains that this oil is recommended by Jeff Gordon and to not choose this supreme oil is foolish and will cause irreparable damage to my car. What do you do? If I say, "No" it is like I just kicked his puppy. This is the scenario that plays out in my mind. So after a good bit of rehearsing on my part, I feel that I am ready to face Shiesty.

As I pulled up into the docking station, I start to devise a plan that would calm my nerves while I awaited persecution from Shiesty McGee for getting the bare minimum service. I grabbed my book and went into the waiting room to bury my head into a book. Once I sit down, I notice a gentleman standing next to the television turning the volume up. He looks at me and explodes about the latest news on the United Nations. It didn't stop. He kept yelling at me about his frustrations. Mind you, they were the complete opposite of my own views, but I wasn't going to let Crazyguy Mcgillicutty know that. Whenever I am in this situation, I always try to look for something to diffuse it. A quick glance around the room revealed nothing. Then I had a great thought, a fake phone call. I reached to feel for my phone and realized that I left it in my car. For a moment I thought that maybe I could throw my book at his face and run out of the door. Then I realized that I really liked my book so I was kind of stuck. I started to pray that Shiesty McGee would show up to save me. It was a strange prayer indeed.

There was a lull in our conversation. I use the term, "Conversation" lightly. In fact, the conversation was actually not an exchange of words between fellows but rather a discourse of words directed at a meaningless stranger. I figured I would use this to my advantage and step outside while my car was being worked on. Shiesty came to me and directed me to a computer to show me how far my car was in the red zone. I gave my rehearsed response and paid the man for the bare minimum. As I turned to leave Crazyguy looked at me and with a smile said, "It was great talking with you."