This is going to be a busy week if not a very productive one personally. I'm hosting colleagues, of sorts (they might be aghast to read that I would use such a phrase and I would be taken aback to learn they know how to read) for a project at work all week.
They arrived on Sunday and will be leaving (fingers crossed, even the middle one) at mid-morning on Friday and I, in turn, will be bailing out around noon that same day so we can visit Adam and Margaret DTS.
The only thing I know how to do with my car, any car, is to get the oil changed every three thousand miles. Many years ago, Eric my neighbor, told me to always do that and I always do. It seems to work out great as I've never had a car break on me since then.
So when the postcard from oil change place came in the mail last Thursday I realized, yep I'm due but the only day I could hope to get the oil change accomplished was this past Saturday. I got up late, for me, Saturday morning and got to the shop a little after nine. All the racks were full and the place was humming with activity.
I sat in the customer lounge, which is a waiting room alongside the plate glass window that faces into the three bay garage so you can sort of watch them work on your car. I have now learned, from looking through the window that I have a double-hinged hood which means when you open it that it stays up by itself and doesn't need one of those metal rods that's clipped about the radiator to prop it open.
Saturday I sat across from a woman working away on a tablet while also checking her smartphone in her lap. Seated next to her was a man with a smartphone that he kept yelling into while having telephone conversations about third parties who had sex with one of their parents, judging on what he kept calling them, despite glances of disapproval and annoyance from the rest of us.
My smartphone was in my pocket. I don't ever turn the ringer on and I leave the vibrate thing off because I can see how that might get addictive. People get angry at me because I never respond to their calls or texts which I think is hysterical since I have the phone for my convenience, not theirs. When I want to call or send someone a note, I can and I do. What they might like is mir scheiss egal but thanks for playing.
The other person in the waiting room was reading the newspaper which I thought was quaint and made me think of throwback Thursday something that happens a lot on social media.
Actually, I realized he was studiously reading the employment ads, information which I kept to myself as he got up when his car's service was completed and paid for with a check before leaving. Wonder if the shop looks at shocks and if his car might bounce less than his check.