So I had to take my car in for service.
There had been a strange sound coming from my right front wheel well and I probably should have had it checked out months ago, but I had no idea what it would cost and it didn't really matter since I couldn't afford it no matter what it was. But this week it started to sound like the wheel might come flinging off on a sharp turn, so I went ahead and made an appointment.
I dropped the car off and was told it would be about 20 minutes until the shuttle returned. The days of loaner cars are long past, so I took a seat in the waiting room and passed the time surfing the net on my phone.
About 10 minutes later, another guy dropped off his car and joined me in the waiting room. And then another. And then a third.
And they were all stunningly attractive!
Three! That's more attractive people than I've seen in the nearly two years we've lived here!
They were all remarkably similar. They all appeared to be early to mid 30's. They were all extremely buff which you could tell because they were all wearing shorts and very tight T-shirts. And it quickly became obvious we'd all be riding in the same shuttle.
I tried not to stare, really I did. The shuttle finally arrived and we all shuffled out. They other guys let me enter first, maybe deferring to the fact I had been waiting the longest, perhaps due to my advanced age. I climbed into the back row, two others took the middle bench and the one I found the most attractive rode shotgun.
Our driver was Lester, an older black man. Before taking off, he collected our destinations. The three other guys dutifully buckled their seatbelts, I didn't bother. The worst case scenario was we'd be in an accident and I would be thrown into the laps of the other men, and unsurprisingly, I was OK with that.
Then things suddenly took a turn for the worse.
As we pulled out onto the street, Lester loudly announced...
"OK Gentlemen.... LETS TALK SOME FOOTBALLL!"
Oh dear God, let's not. Really..... let's not.
If there's one stereotype about gay men that's pretty spot on it's the one about gays and football. Go to a gay Super Bowl party and the only time anyone's attention is riveted on the TV is during the commercials.
Lester demanded to know "our" teams and proudly proclaimed himself a Raiders fan. Shotgun was for the Cowboys, the other two were for the Steelers and New England. Thankfully, I went last and made sure to choose a different team so I wouldn't run the risk of having to actually know anything about their teams.
"I'm for the 'Niners" I said. Why? Jim, my wacky neighbor, is a huge SF fan and has a Niners banner hanging over the garage. I walk by it every day so it was the only team I could think of.
Suddenly New England, sitting in front of me, turned around and said "Hey man, we play each other in a couple of weeks!" He offered his fist for a fist bump, but never having done that before, I left him hanging with his fist in the air. I was afraid I was now going to be exposed as a fraud, a big gay fraud. What would they do to me? Push me out of a moving mini-van? Luckily, I wasn't seated near a door.
Then, just in the nick of time, Lester said something provocative about the Cowboys and suddenly all the testosterone was directed up to the front and everyone started talking trash about each other's teams. I was reminded that God, in His Infinite Wisdom, usually balances out good looks with brains and once the guys all opened their mouths they became much less attractive.
Mercifully, I was the first stop and I was so anxious to get out of the car I just told Lester to drop me off three blocks from the house. That way, no one would know where I lived.
The ride back in the afternoon was much less stressful. I was picked up by the lovely Esperanza and small talk was minimal since she spoke no English.
She had the radio turned to a local pop station and they were promoting the "Roach Round-Up".
Yes...the "Roach Round-Up".
Send in your photos of the largest cockroach you can find and you could win a trip to Vegas. Only Kern County roaches are eligible. We wouldn't want someone throwing the contest with a foot long ringer from Madagascar.
I picked up my car and on the way home it started making the same sound. Nothing had been fixed, but at least I hadn't been charged anything. I probably won't go back because if I learned anything yesterday it's that I'm better off never leaving the house.
