Hurry Up

I’m writing in the back room this morning, while waiting for my first appointment to show up, when I hear the trusty motion detector, and see the front end of a car easing into the shop. The driver beeps the horn immediately. As I’ve stated in previous blogs, there’s nothing like being summoned by a car horn to get me ready for the Prom. I approach the car with measured steps, which doesn’t sit well with the young man sitting behind the driver’s wheel. He gives me a quick second beep, and holds up his hands in a ‘today, Crosby, today’ type gesture. This really makes me hot for the dance.

“Can I help you?” I ask. Hurry Up hasn’t moved from his seat.

“How much to throw some tire fix in my front tire?”

“I don’t fix tires here,” I reply, knowing even if I did, it wouldn’t be a spray goo fix. “Big O tires…”

“What?!” Hurry gasps in shock. “Man, what the hell do you do here?”

Okay, I’ll play for a couple minutes.

“I do general repair on all American and Asian vehicles, with the exception of transmission rebuilding, and alignments. I do some exhaust work, but I’m not competitive with the chains except with late model catalytic converter replacement,” I rattle off the facts politely.

“But you can’t do a tire… shit…” Hurry clucks at me disparagingly.

“I can do tire repairs. I choose not to.”

“Make an exception.”

This is getting interesting.

“No. Go down 38^th, turn right on Foothill Blvd., Big O tires will be on your right,” I direct him, as his face grows more petulant. I say petulant, because if you’re a young no-it-all punk, that’s as close to menacing as you get.

Hurry Up glares at me petulantly for another fifteen seconds, and I start grinning. Hurry shakes his head in disgust.

“You ought to hire a mechanic,” Hurry prods me as he starts his car, and puts it into reverse.

“I’ll make a note.”

I hope having a beep-beep come in this morning brings me good luck. :)