Honestly. Another day, another asshole.
I suppose that, in a perverse sort of way, this is the stuff that makes life an adventure. The thing is, who needs an “adventure” on a weekday morning?
Here’s the story.
This morning, I showed up at the appointed time to have the 5,000-mile service done on my big, fat, black, capitalist car. Like all Service Area Supplicants, I turned in my keys and headed into the dreaded “Customer Waiting Room”. I was quite certain that it would be a short stay, as the only thing that was scheduled for the big, fat. black, capitalist car was an oil change.
Not surprisingly, when I climbed the three steps into the waiting room, I saw five or six people already seated, all staring at the television in the corner that was blaring Katie and Matt spewing their morning sugary bilge. I found a seat as far away from the television as possible and immediately took out a pad and pen (you remember those things) and began outlining something I wanted to write for work.
It’s not easy filtering out Katie and Matt, but I was doing OK.
After a few minutes, a woman walked into the room, and, after surveying the assemblage, said, “Is anyone watching this?”
Mind you, she asked this question after seeing a half dozen people staring into the television screen.
I can only assume that the six people staring into the television screen were too busy breathing through their mouths to answer the woman’s stupid question, because no one said a word.
For a brief and shining moment, I thought she might — just might, suggest that the morning blather be turned off. However, as often happens, what I perceived to be a “brief and shining moment” turned out to have been a pathetic brain fart.
The woman followed the silence of the mouth breathers with, “I want to turn on Regis”, which she promptly did.
The change of stations didn’t seem to bother the hominids in the waiting room as they continued to stare at the television, now being treated to Kelly Whatshername’s version of the likelihood of extraterrestrial beings having visited earth.
I thought to myself, “What kind of person walks into a room relatively full of people watching a television program and asks whether anyone is watching the television? And, what kind of person finds the thought of missing one minute of Regis to be worth the trouble of asking?”
It didn’t take but about three minutes for me to learn what kind of person would do such a thing.
It was the kind of person who would pluck a booger from her nose, then spend a half-minute rolling it. Having satisfied herself that she turned the piece of nasal sludge into something resembling a sphere, she examined it as if she were appraising a fine diamond. Once she was done admiring her work, she pretended to fold her arms, thereby permitting her to wipe the booger from her finger into her left armpit, and resume giving her full attention to Regis and Kelly.
My oil change was finished shortly after the booger appraisal, and I promptly left the mouth breathers and the nose-picker behind.
I spent the next several hours hoping that the booger-rolling woman is not someone’s mother.