Some things you need to do in life can be
boring. Sitting in
a car dealership waiting for your vehicle to be serviced ranks high on the
list.
Trying to amuse yourself as you wait isn't easy.
And, at times, what you hear going on around you may seem strange. So . . .
Monday morning, I
sat at my desk in my den thinking about what chores needed to be done this week. I pulled out my “To Do
List” and scanned the items on it to determine what my priorities for the week
should be. Oh my, I thought, it’s time to get the cars serviced again.
Not putting much mileage on them in retirement, my service advisor and I
determined that both cars should be serviced twice a year to extend their life
span.
I reached for the
phone and punched in Gene’s number at the Nissan dealership. It rang and rang
and rang. I was about to hang up when . . .
“This is Gene
Gorman. How can I help you?”
“Hi Gene. This is
Aaron—Aaron Brass. Your phone rang so long, I thought it was going to voice
mail.”
“Sorry about that.
I was just finishing up a call I couldn’t interrupt. So how can I help you?”
“It’s that time
again, Gene. Both cars need to be serviced.”
“I’m glad you
remembered. When you’re on a twice yearly schedule, you’re not in our automated
reminder system that is triggered by miles driven.”
“Oh, I didn’t
remember, My Altima did.”
“Your telling me
there’s something wrong with the car?”
“No, I’m telling
you there is something right with the car. It told me it was time.” He didn’t
reply, and then . . .
“Okay, so you want
to schedule an appointment?”
“Yes.”
“Usual
arrangement—bring the Murano in, go to breakfast, come back, and exchange
cars?”
“You’ve got it
down pat, Gene.”
“Well, you’ve been
doing this for over ten years. So it doesn’t take a genius to remember the
routine—although I am close.”
“I wouldn’t go
that far, but . . .”
“Aw, come on. Give
me a break.”
“How’s this Friday
morning at 9:30?”
“Schedule look’s
pretty open. See you then.”
Friday arrived—a
beautiful October day. Julie and I dressed, walked and fed the dogs, jumped
into our cars, she in the Murano and me in the Altima, and headed off to the
dealership. I tried to follow her, but got caught by three lights. So when I
arrived, Julie had already checked the Murano in. She waited outside the large
double-glass doors, with the “I’m hungry look” on her face.
Seeing me pull
into the lot, she rushed to the car. As she opened the passenger side door, she
chanted, “I’m starving. Len’s Diner work for you?”
“Sure. Get in.”
We had a wonderful
breakfast, talked about all the old folks in the restaurant with us, paid the
bill, and headed back to the Nissan dealership. When we arrived, Julie went
into the building to see if the Murano was ready and I checked in the Altima.
By the time I’d
finished and started to head toward the building, Julie was coming out. She
yelled, “It’s all done. No surprises, just the basic oil and lube. With the
discount coupon, it cost us $23.75. I’m going home.”
“You’re not going
to stay with me?”
“What for? You’re
a big boy. I’m sure you can handle all the excitement and intrigue alone.”
“Guess I’ll have
to. See you at home.” She headed to her car and I went into the building to
spend an hour plus in the waiting area—alone.
I sat down and
watched the other people, as they “enjoyed” what must have seemed like an
endless wait for their cars. I became bored and restless. I perused the showroom
area and saw two new cars on display, one a Rogue, I was familiar with, and the
other a 2018 Nissan Kicks, which I hadn’t seen before. So I ambled over to it
and grabbed the door handle on the driver’s side.
Hey, don’t touch me, a low, raspy voice
commanded.
I spun around to
see who’d said that to me, but nobody was there. "What the . . . Must be my mind playing tricks on me," I muttered.
Deciding to continue exploring the
vehicle, I walked toward the rear of this small SUV. I reached down and began
to open the hatch when I heard . . . How
would you like it if I touched your butt, mister?
“Huh?” Startled, I looked behind me,
but didn’t see anybody near me. About eight other people lounged in the waiting
area, but none of them paid any attention to me, so I decided to ignore what I
believed I’d heard. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. Maybe I just nodded
off and dreamed this.
I focused my
attention back on the car. Why I persisted in doing this, I didn’t understand.
It wasn’t all that interesting. However, I decided to check under the hood. As
I opened it, I was taken aback by . . .
What gives you the right to poke around in
my mouth? Are you an oral surgeon? Why aren’t you wearing gloves? Are your hands sterile?
Not believing any of this was real,
and feeling the presence of someone lurking behind me, I turned around to look.
What I saw was a little guy, no more than five-feet tall, standing there,
staring at me. So I peered back at him.
“Why you lookin’
at me, man?” he asked, somewhat annoyed.
“Nice game you’re
playing,” I said with anger in my voice.
“Game?” he
queried, looking puzzled.
“Throwing your
voice into that SUV, so I’d think it was speaking to me.”
“What’re you
talkin’ about? I didn’t throw nothin’ into nothin’,” he said in a harsh tone.
“Oh, come on! Own
up to it.”
“I don’t want to
own it. Costs too much money. Just leave me alone.”
He gave me a weird
look and walked away. Bewildered, I stood motionless. What the hell is happening? Am I going crazy? I thought.
Then bellowing laughter erupted
behind me. Shocked, I pivoted to assess the situation. It was coming from the
open hood of the Kicks. Now I was totally confused and frightened to boot. Not
knowing what to do, I headed toward the door. Maybe I’d better get out of here.
Wait outside for my car to be finished.
As I made my way
to the exit, someone called out to me, “Hey, fella, I think you dropped
something.”
I turned back to
look and just stood there with my mouth wide open. A sign I hadn’t seen before,
in large, bold letters, read, “THIS CAR
OF THE FUTURE WILL DRIVE YOU CRAZY, IF YOU LISTEN TO IT.”
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