Emissions Inspection, Great Staff, Less Filling Station
Saturday, I went to get the car inspected.
To reduce my time in line in the broiling sun, I popped on over to Virginia Tire & Auto at 6:15 am to get in line, behind some guy who had dropped his car off the night before just to be first in line - jeez, that's hardcore. The temperature was 63 degrees at that hour, I noted.
I spent a half hour cleaning the windshield and other glass surfaces with a grease cutter, having vaccumed out old Betsy last week at the car wash, then I went into the office to check in.
The office had a big painted sign behind the office guy, "SAME GREAT STAFF AND OWNERS SINCE 1981", even though they had no record of my previous visits over the last 12 years, and nobody at the station looked remotely familiar. I think perhaps they have the same staff bodies, but pop off and swap out the heads for interest or freshness, like Barbie dolls.
When I told him I needed an inspection and emissions, a mechanic, a pear shaped fellow of perhaps 60, lounging around the office, looked me up and down lightly and said, "You look good to me; you pass," in that manner that nice old farts do who haven't gotten the memo on feminism do?
Thank you," I said brightly, not wanting to break the news about Betty Friedan to him, "but how about my car?" He laughed with delight. I expect the world must be progressively more confusing as mores and politeness standards move on without you. Besides, selfishly, Nice Old Fart might be the one inspecting my car, so communicating in the lingua franca can't hurt me. (I am evil, am I not?)
After I checked in, I was invited to go the 7-11 next door if I neeed coffee, and inspections start at 7:00! This, I assume, was to disinvite me from drinking any of the coffee in the warmer next to his desk? Do Barbie dolls drink coffee?
I tried to read Spook Country by William Gibson, and it was proving a slog, but I was entertained by Inspection Customer #3, in the wagon behind me, a newcomer to the Old Dominion, getting the explanation from Mr. Barbiehead about the schedules of emission, safety, taxes, license plate stickers, window safety stickers and the like. "That's insane," blurted out the man. "It is," I piped in. Ah, welcome to Fairfax County, buddy.
Later, a man came in, let's call him Richard Snowflake, all flustered, with receipts for the new set of tires he was told yesterday he needed to pass inspection and get the safety sticker for his window.
"I have the receipt, how long to get someone to look at my car?" Mr. Barbiehead counts the cars already in line, "Oh, hour and a half, hour and three quarters." Dick says he doesn't want to be a dick about this, but he just needs the guy to look and see that he bought the brand new tires, and he's "going to be very angry" if he has to wait that long.
Mr. Barbiehead assures him he will see what he can do, and thus appeased as to his inate specialness and obvious worthiness for special treatment, goes outside to drink a coke. Hey, I thought, I was here at 6:15, pal.
Later, I am still sitting in the office, and Mr. Barbiehead says, "Wow, look at that - there's a Lamborghini at the pump!" I turn around to look, and see a white-haired man in polo shirt and penny loafers next to an orange sports cars.
The office guy narrates for me, "Can you say mid-life crisis?" I laugh. He says, "those things go zero to sixty in 2 seconds, and they cost $270,000." Everyone in the office, which is floor to ceiling glass panels, is now looking at the Lamborghini. Without taking my gaze off the car, I say, "So, basically, it's a house." "Yeah, basically." Then MidLife Crisis Guy catches us all gaping at him. I thought that was funny. Because the idea is to get people to look.
Finally, around 9:00, my car has passed emissions and failed safety, and I am driving away from the office with a failed sticker on the windshield. Mr. Snowflake is still standing around outside as I drive past to get to the free air pump for my always- low left front tire. I guess he wasn't special enough to get his inspection bumped ahead of mine. Poor special little Snowflake.
I drove it over the Merv's, and walked home, 45 minutes walk, if you take out me dropping by the hardware store to buy a $1.29 plastic funnel and ending up buying 44 bucks worth of stuff.
Anyway, it was a nice walk, and only got up near 80 in the latter part of the excursion, and I had a straw hat. It had been pleasant when I left Merv's. Oh, and Merv had someone take out the poison ivy, which gives it a whole new look - more gravel, less malevolent spiky plant life. I think he had done it previously, but the poison ivy was so part of the landscape, I had forgotten.
To reduce my time in line in the broiling sun, I popped on over to Virginia Tire & Auto at 6:15 am to get in line, behind some guy who had dropped his car off the night before just to be first in line - jeez, that's hardcore. The temperature was 63 degrees at that hour, I noted.
I spent a half hour cleaning the windshield and other glass surfaces with a grease cutter, having vaccumed out old Betsy last week at the car wash, then I went into the office to check in.
The office had a big painted sign behind the office guy, "SAME GREAT STAFF AND OWNERS SINCE 1981", even though they had no record of my previous visits over the last 12 years, and nobody at the station looked remotely familiar. I think perhaps they have the same staff bodies, but pop off and swap out the heads for interest or freshness, like Barbie dolls.
When I told him I needed an inspection and emissions, a mechanic, a pear shaped fellow of perhaps 60, lounging around the office, looked me up and down lightly and said, "You look good to me; you pass," in that manner that nice old farts do who haven't gotten the memo on feminism do?
Thank you," I said brightly, not wanting to break the news about Betty Friedan to him, "but how about my car?" He laughed with delight. I expect the world must be progressively more confusing as mores and politeness standards move on without you. Besides, selfishly, Nice Old Fart might be the one inspecting my car, so communicating in the lingua franca can't hurt me. (I am evil, am I not?)
After I checked in, I was invited to go the 7-11 next door if I neeed coffee, and inspections start at 7:00! This, I assume, was to disinvite me from drinking any of the coffee in the warmer next to his desk? Do Barbie dolls drink coffee?
I tried to read Spook Country by William Gibson, and it was proving a slog, but I was entertained by Inspection Customer #3, in the wagon behind me, a newcomer to the Old Dominion, getting the explanation from Mr. Barbiehead about the schedules of emission, safety, taxes, license plate stickers, window safety stickers and the like. "That's insane," blurted out the man. "It is," I piped in. Ah, welcome to Fairfax County, buddy.
Later, a man came in, let's call him Richard Snowflake, all flustered, with receipts for the new set of tires he was told yesterday he needed to pass inspection and get the safety sticker for his window.
"I have the receipt, how long to get someone to look at my car?" Mr. Barbiehead counts the cars already in line, "Oh, hour and a half, hour and three quarters." Dick says he doesn't want to be a dick about this, but he just needs the guy to look and see that he bought the brand new tires, and he's "going to be very angry" if he has to wait that long.
Mr. Barbiehead assures him he will see what he can do, and thus appeased as to his inate specialness and obvious worthiness for special treatment, goes outside to drink a coke. Hey, I thought, I was here at 6:15, pal.
Later, I am still sitting in the office, and Mr. Barbiehead says, "Wow, look at that - there's a Lamborghini at the pump!" I turn around to look, and see a white-haired man in polo shirt and penny loafers next to an orange sports cars.
The office guy narrates for me, "Can you say mid-life crisis?" I laugh. He says, "those things go zero to sixty in 2 seconds, and they cost $270,000." Everyone in the office, which is floor to ceiling glass panels, is now looking at the Lamborghini. Without taking my gaze off the car, I say, "So, basically, it's a house." "Yeah, basically." Then MidLife Crisis Guy catches us all gaping at him. I thought that was funny. Because the idea is to get people to look.
Finally, around 9:00, my car has passed emissions and failed safety, and I am driving away from the office with a failed sticker on the windshield. Mr. Snowflake is still standing around outside as I drive past to get to the free air pump for my always- low left front tire. I guess he wasn't special enough to get his inspection bumped ahead of mine. Poor special little Snowflake.
I drove it over the Merv's, and walked home, 45 minutes walk, if you take out me dropping by the hardware store to buy a $1.29 plastic funnel and ending up buying 44 bucks worth of stuff.
Anyway, it was a nice walk, and only got up near 80 in the latter part of the excursion, and I had a straw hat. It had been pleasant when I left Merv's. Oh, and Merv had someone take out the poison ivy, which gives it a whole new look - more gravel, less malevolent spiky plant life. I think he had done it previously, but the poison ivy was so part of the landscape, I had forgotten.