Getting my oil changed

Yesterday I needed to go get my oil changed, which isn't fun.  There's nothing fun about it.

I dreaded it and procrastinated it long enough that I decided I could leave Mark home with the other kids because they were almost home from school.  I told Mark and he was supremely grateful, "Thank you Mom, thank you!"  It was like I'd saved him from the guillotine at the last moment.

I asked Braeden if we wanted to go with me.  He said, "Ha!  Nope."

I asked Emma.  She shook her head and smiled at me kindly, like you would at some poor sap who was asking the impossible.

So off I went.  I had a book to read, how bad could it be?

Pretty bad.

The room was sort of smelly and a big TV was blaring.  There's a reason I don't watch any daytime television.  Ever.

A host of people rotated through the room.  There was the couple who seemed to be together but she was much older than he was--not quite old enough to be his mother, but older.  There was the man snoring, loudly, in the corner.  There was the man sitting next to me speaking Chinese on his cell phone, loudly.

An older woman sat next to a window.  It was raining--you know,  Pacific Northwest--and the window leaked.  This launched the older man sitting across from her into an animated conversation about the time his motor home leaked.  I tuned in and out of the conversation because my book really wasn't very interesting.  They began talking about Mexico (I missed the segue) and how distrustful they were of the place in general.  And they also hated Arizona.  The man told about a time he visited his sister in the Phoenix area and couldn't wait to get home.  His sister had air conditioning, but all that air hurt his lungs.  Or maybe it was the dust.  Whatever it was, he was happy to get home.  "I don't mind the rain," he said.

"I quite like it," the woman said.

"Except for when I'm driving on the freeway," he said.

I started daydreaming about how much I would love to be in Arizona.  And not at the Honda dealership.

The man who took my keys came in to check in with me.  He told me they ran out of the oil I needed and so had to go over to the other service center.

Fabulous.

I finally abandoned my book altogether.  It just wasn't good.

Another employee came in.  He poured himself some coffee.  He said, "Do you want some coffee?"

I said no, thank you.

He said, "I'm buying..."

Just go get me back my van, I thought.  Please. 

A woman across from me started complaining bitterly into her cell phone about how long it was all taking.

Finally it was my turn.  My van was done, an hour and a half later. 

As I drove home--in the rain--I had one clear thought:  my children are geniuses.  If I haven't done anything else, I have raised children smart enough to avoid oil changes if at all possible.