Rejection from Econo Lube N Tune

I forgot to put lotion on my legs this morning. I could almost hear Buffalo Bill Gumb in my head:

It puts the lotion on its legs!

It puts the lotion on its legs or it gets static cling!

It’s annoying, but not the end of the world. I only mention this to tell you what kind of day it started out to be. Twice, once while driving to the train station and then again driving from the station to work, other drivers thought I was racing them. They must have, otherwise their sudden lane shifts, speeding up or down to keep me out of their lane, and swerving can only be interpreted as rudeness bordering on road rage.

I’m also taking an off day from running, so I have no endorphin high on which to stave off the general apathy and depression from this morning. I did this with the intent to get my truck lubed. I’m somewhat religious, though not in a praying at the alter, lighting candles and virgin sacrifes way, in lubing my truck. Virgins are hard to come by these days anyhow. I’ve had too many vehicles go out on me for lack of lube simply because I wanted to jam another dozen McDonald’s double cheeseburgers and accompanying fries down my gullet.

Mmmmmm cheeseburgers.

But I digress.

The old lube place I used to go to closed. Probably because their prices were ridiculously low, which is why I kept going. They closed without informing me, which, as their single most important customer, I found extremely unprofessional. Fortunately, as I was driving to the post office near my work, I found an even closer lube place, so all was forgiven.

Today, I jumped in my truck, eager to exchange my hard-won cash for their excellent service. My truck fairly roared to life even before I put the key in the ignition and turned. It lovingly, but in a non-gay way, caressed my buttocks as I slid into the driver’s seat. We were both very excited.

I pulled in to the lube place, saw that only one other car was being serviced, and smiled at my good fortune. Clearly, they knew that I would be coming today, and cleared their schedule in order to provide their utmost top quality to one who would join the ranks of their happily satisfied customers.

But what was this? As I pulled up, an attendant walked out of the main office and looked in my direction. I waved, and gave him a thumbs up, expressing my gratitude for all this company had done to make my first visit an experience to remember.

The attendant ignored me, looked around the parking lot for a moment, then sauntered (yes, he sauntered, it’s slightly more arrogant than sashaying) back into the office.

Perhaps he hadn’t seen my hearty wave hello. Perhaps my chummy thumbs-up was an insult in his country. He appeared caucasion, American, perhaps even from California.

I was baffled.

I pulled slowly toward one of the stalls, and waited a moment, peering hopefully out toward the office. I tried to see if the grease-jockeys were performing some kind of song-dance number that required their immediate attention before going back to their wonderful and fulfilling jobs of changing oil and lubing chassis.

Nothing.

My heart sunk to the floor, my truck felt deflated. The engine coughed, once, in a sulky way.

Then, behold, an attendant came forth. The same attendant who had earlier rejected my friendly tokens of goodwill. He came out, but did not open the chain that covered the entrance so that I might proceed in. He yelled something that I could not hear because the windows were up.

I smiled, rolled down the window and he repeated his question:

“What do you want?”

I looked around for hidden cameras, looked carefully at the signs that read “Econo Lube n Tune”, looked at the quarts of oil carefully and lovingly stacked against the walls, looked at the air-filters and grease-guns all in their assigned slots.

I looked back at the attendant.

“An oil change?”

Yes, I asked it as a question. Clearly, I was befuddled. Perhaps I has misinterpreted the signs and the advertisements, one of which stood directly in front of the attendant and read, “OIL CHANGE: $17.95”.

“Why do you yell at me?”

“What?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“Sorry, the engines on.”

“No. Why are you so mad? What do you want here?”

"An oil change?"

"What's all the yelling for?"

It was then my truck, thoroughly insulted, put itself into reverse gear and drove itself off the premises. I waved, kindly, to the attendant who continued to yell at me, and chased me to the corner why my truck’s superior speed and handling lost him in a crowd of pigeons.

Was he trying to not lose my business? Was he sad that my truck had left? Unusually embarrassed by his lack of understanding as to the needs that drove automobiles and drivers to his doorstop?

I will never know the truth, as my truck now refuses to go near the place.

But tomorrow, I will definitely use lotion.