Wake Up Call

“Hi, Bernie,” a woman’s voice called out from right beside me on Friday morning.

In my defense, the air compressor was knocking away. I was in complete concentration mode under the hood of a 2001 Pontiac, and probably nothing short of an earthquake would have jarred me out from the Pontiac’s maw. I managed to not pop my head up like Bambi scrambling for cover, and eased out slowly as if I knew she was there all the time. This doesn’t happen often; because in my shop’s neighborhood, it’s not healthy to get surprised. I usually have a sixth sense about walk-ins. Lucky for me, I was surprised by a five foot four inch old customer’s daughter, and not a six foot four gangbanger. Who says God doesn’t watch out for the oblivious.

She wanted to make an appointment for an oil change. In doing so, she issued a gentle reminder to get my head out of my ass; and look up occasionally, as if I did indeed know where the hell I was. :)

Monday the twenty-fourth I’ll be in my attached comic shop, writing all day, instead of fixing cars. I’ve already promised a bunch of my regular kid customers I’d be open early.