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The Thing With Wings
Saturday, November 4th, 2006 06:26 pmNote to self: Do not under any circumstances short of Total Mechanical Failure take the car into the shop on Saturday. Even if they give you a ten o'clock appointment. All of the appointments on Saturday are for ten o'clock. It is not the object of this essay to explore Exactly How Stupid that is.
I went prepared with a yellow pad, a book to amuse myself with, and a bottle of water. It shortly became obvious that I was a piker. One father came in with his four girls -- three from five to seven and one a babe in arms -- a picnic basket and a bag of Stuff for the kids to play with while they waited. The television was speedily dialed to one cartoon channel, then to another when Scooby-Do was pronounced unacceptable.
It being impossible to hear myself think in the waiting room, I went outside, took a walk up the hill and down the hill, then across to Fort Halifax Park. It was breezy, and too cool for writing on even the sunniest benches, so I took my time exploring the high water marks left by the last deluge, and watching the eagles over the Kennebec.
Back to the shop forty-five minutes later, only to find that they hadn't yet touched Argent. When I asked at the service desk for a probable finish time, I was told, blithely, "Oh, two or three o'clock." It was at that point eleven o'clock; the kids in the waiting room were still there, noisily, having been joined by three more, with their parents, every single one of them pinned to the television.
"OK," I said. "I'll walk home."
The service guy looked at me. "Where do you live?"
"At the Albion line."
He paled. "But that's -- Wait a minute. I'll see if somebody can drive you home."
Ten minutes later, he reappeared. "Sharon, your car's going in now. It'll be ready in an hour."
I went for another walk, returned in an hour and sure enough, the car was done.
On the plus side, I got in some quality exercise today. And, I've scoped out the Final Showdown for Carousel Tides.
Long, disjointed ramble ( behind the cut. )
I went prepared with a yellow pad, a book to amuse myself with, and a bottle of water. It shortly became obvious that I was a piker. One father came in with his four girls -- three from five to seven and one a babe in arms -- a picnic basket and a bag of Stuff for the kids to play with while they waited. The television was speedily dialed to one cartoon channel, then to another when Scooby-Do was pronounced unacceptable.
It being impossible to hear myself think in the waiting room, I went outside, took a walk up the hill and down the hill, then across to Fort Halifax Park. It was breezy, and too cool for writing on even the sunniest benches, so I took my time exploring the high water marks left by the last deluge, and watching the eagles over the Kennebec.
Back to the shop forty-five minutes later, only to find that they hadn't yet touched Argent. When I asked at the service desk for a probable finish time, I was told, blithely, "Oh, two or three o'clock." It was at that point eleven o'clock; the kids in the waiting room were still there, noisily, having been joined by three more, with their parents, every single one of them pinned to the television.
"OK," I said. "I'll walk home."
The service guy looked at me. "Where do you live?"
"At the Albion line."
He paled. "But that's -- Wait a minute. I'll see if somebody can drive you home."
Ten minutes later, he reappeared. "Sharon, your car's going in now. It'll be ready in an hour."
I went for another walk, returned in an hour and sure enough, the car was done.
On the plus side, I got in some quality exercise today. And, I've scoped out the Final Showdown for Carousel Tides.
Long, disjointed ramble ( behind the cut. )
