You know who I hate today? The car dealership. Those bastards. Just listen to this, you guys:
So remember how I said that my engine light came on? And I didn�t know what the fuck it was all about? Well, I drove my car all the way to the dealership yesterday after work and immediately signed in. Last time I did this routine (a month ago for my oil change) I ended up waiting an hour before they even got around to me, so I was prepared to sit around for a while. However, when I got to the sign-in sheet, I saw that there had been no one in since around 3:00! What luck! I signed, I sat, I waited.
And I waited.
And I waited for an hour and a fucking half, during which time Peter, the toolbox who had first acknowledged my presence by checking the walk-in sheet and assigning me to some apparently fictitious salesperson they like to call �John�, traipsed back and forth, staring at me like I was a leper recently escaped from his colony. Granted I wasn�t looking my best, as I seem to have contracted the fucking black death, and randomly sneeze so hard I shoot brain tissue out of my nose, but still. If you want to stare at something then get an aquarium, assclown. Then some old geezer lights up and starts blowing smoke at me, like do you want to see me cough up soft tissue, old man?
So after I�ve been there for an hour and a half, some perky blonde chick with a nice rack waltzes up, signs in, and Peter fucking flags �John� down on the spot to help her! WTF??? Those cockmonsters! Gee, I�m sorry I don�t have hooters, Pete, but do you think that maybe sometime today someone could take a gander at my car? I realize that in my current state of non-vagina-ness I am of precious little use to you and your neolithic cronies, but look! I have dollars! And�I could probably buy you a copy of Juggs at the drugstore while you�re looking at my vehicle! Whatta ya say? I bet that blonde chick won�t let you inside her shirt no matter how well you rotate her tires, but Amber will always have her top off on page 37!
So I grab Peter and tell him I�ve been there for a while, and what are the odds someone might be by to help me tonight? Peter sighs impatiently and tells me that if I�ve got my paperwork ready, he�ll have someone come out and talk to me. That�s when my eyes narrow into slits and clouds of sulfur start pouring out of my ears. I explain I am not trying to pick my car up, I have been trying to drop it off. For a fucking hour and a half. He gets all surprised and flustered and starts accusing me of not signing in. I point out that not only did I sign in, but that he�s the one who acknowledged it, and he gets all evasive and starts pretending like that�s just how things operate around there: skinny boys wait for a few hours while perky blondes get helped immediately. After familiarizing me with the system, he then sauntered off to maybe possibly pretend to make a half-assed attempt at trying to find someone who might be able to tear himself away from the telly to come and give me attitude. Thanks, Peter!
So I sit down to wait some more, and that�s when I notice this dude skulking around and kind of watching me. I think maybe he was checking me out, but I don�t know for sure. Lately, I seem to think everyone�s checking me out. Either I�m really conceited or else I�m really paranoid. Anyway, the point is that every time I glanced over at this guy, he was looking at me, and I actually think he got the impression that I was checking him out. I mean, you know how when you�ll look over at someone and they�re watching you, and you�re like, �Oops!� because you�ve just made eye contact with someone you don�t know and it�s kind of awkward, and then you look away, but you start thinking like, �Why were they looking at me? Do I have a booger? Do they think I�m cute? Are they looking at me now?� And you look up, and they�re totally still looking at you, and then they smile like they think you�re checking them out when really you were just checking to see if they were checking you out? And then you can�t ever look at them again because you don�t want to send the wrong message or anything, but suddenly it�s like you can�t look anywhere but at them? Yeah, that�s what it was like.
Well, finally, Peter got Julio to come help me. At this point, I�d been there for two hours and the place was about to close, so I had to leave my car overnight. So I don�t have a car right now. Fortunately, May Day was kind enough to drive me to work, and if I ever hear from Julio in regards to my car, she will probably drop me off at the blasted dealership so I can pick my car up after work.
So I�m not in the best of spirits. And now Hardy�s up here, braying like a donkey on crystal meth and generally annoying the shit out of me. I think that tonight I�m going to call Serial and find out just what the fuck his problem is. I spoke to him last Saturday, if you�ll recall, and he said he�d call me. He didn�t. Again. I know I said no more drama, but at this point I�m just a little pissed off about it. You don�t get to say, �Let�s not date, but let�s be friends!� and then after force-feeding me my own pride, turn around and start blowing me off. If you wanna be friends, let�s be friends. If you don�t, then be a fucking adult and tell me, you choad. Don�t make me into a Lifetime movie, okay? That�s not cool.
Fuck it. I�m going to go eat lunch.