Today this woman strolls in with the smallest of lemons. I
look at her. She’s a regular. Last time she came in was some time last year. Oh
God, is she going to park her lemon like that? In the middle of the world as
though it’s the greatest possession anyone could ever have. Well, I guess it is
the greatest possession she has, in
the least.
She tumbles out of the silver lemon. Yes, she tumbled out like a sack of potatoes onto
a tray. She looks left and right sniffing the air like there were a gazillion
people around her. No miss, just me here. Here! Ok, she finally looks at me and
asks how long it would take to service her lemon. Well, at the very least I
know her lemon isn’t a temperamental one; so I tell her it won’t take long. She
gives me a list of things she wants done, then carefully repeats the list in
case I don’t remember. Lady, do I look
stupid here?
o Change oils
o
Check brakes
o
Check battery
o
Check spare tyre
o
Check all tyres
Happy that she gave a proper list of stuff that needs doing,
she trots off to the opposite side of the road to have her breakfast. I start
getting to work..I carefully take off her seat cover before I drive the lemon
into the workshop. I see she’s changed them into blue ones this time round…they
used to be yellow. Still homemade, I see.
40 minutes later she comes back asking if her lemon’s done.
I nod and tell her about the other things I had to do for the lemon as well.
She doesn’t seem to understand, but she nods anyway. Then she asks whether I
found out if she owns a spare tyre. Pfft!! These women; going about as though
they own the world, yet can’t even tell if they own a spare tyre. Fine then, I
forgot to check it anyways, so I go to get it done. She trots along behind me.
I open the boot of the lemon and hurrah! An array of recycle
bags, a motorcycle helmet (??), pencil cases, bottle of water greet me. She
doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong with this and proceeds to gather the bags.
I reach for the carpet, and sure enough, there is the spare tyre. I grasp it in
my palms, it’s still usable. She impatiently looks over my shoulder. She asks
if it needs changing, I say no. She asks again, hasn’t it hardened? I say no.
She asks that I take it out to check.
Now, here’s the part where I have to say I’m already annoyed
with this lady. But, she insists so I take out the d***ed tyre. I fill up the
air (she didn’t know it existed, how would she possibly think of checking the
air of something she didn’t know existed, right?), but she still doesn’t seem
satisfied. Now, I have to remind you here that I did NOT want to take out the
tyre in the first place; but what else could I do? So I bounce the tyre on the
floor to show her that I’m “checking” the tyre’s bouncy-ness and
voooooooooooosssshhhh a swarm of God-knows-what crawls up my arms! They went
into my shirt, around my back, yaaarrrrrrrrrrrghhhhh!!!!!
And this, this, this woman,
she starts laughing. Laughing! There are unidentifiable creatures that look
like half spider-half cockroach running all over my body, and she’s laughing! I
had to run out of the workshop, throw off my clothes and try best as I could to
get them all off of me, and she’s there laughing!
My friend goes to her and starts telling her to get bug
poison for her car and she just looks up at him with her face red with
laughter. What, has she been breeding those things on purpose? Yuck! Yuck yuck
yuck yuck!
I hope I never see her again.
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