Friday, November 21, 2008

Still talking about last weekend

I was slightly panicked about my flat tire because I couldn't tell how serious it was and Mondays are a *really* bad day for me to have a flat tire. I work all day, rush home to walk the dog, then go to class for 6 hours, so? Dealing with a flat tire? Not really an option. I was also panicked to deal with it on Sunday because I only had 2.5 hours to get home and let the dog out before it had been too long and I wanted to get home before The Mom in case The Daughter hadn't cleaned well enough and I needed to unload the dishwasher. Because? The Mom? Doesn't like to come home to a clean dishwasher. Obviously.

Before I moved to CT I did everything to my car that I thought would be necessary. I wanted to move with the peace of mind that my car would be reliable and not cause any major issues. The battery died once since I've been here, but that's it. In my quest to ready my car for the move I bought four brand new tires at Costco.

There is a Costco around here so I called and asked if they could fit me in Sunday to look at my tire. The man who answered said sure, come right in. I drove up to the Costco and there was a 1.5hour wait. I might be cutting it a little tight, but I didn't mind, I wanted my tire to get fixed. I handed over my keys and settled in to the plastic bench in the tire center. I could have browsed around Costco, but the amount of people in there was RIDICULOUS and? I can't spend any money so it would not have been very fun. After one hour and thirty minutes the man behind the counter tells me that they drove my car around so it will just be a minute. Great! I stand up, get my coat on and... wait. For twenty minutes. Still no car or keys. After thirty minutes the man behind the counter heads to his break saying, "I can't believe your keys aren't here yet. Wonder where they are?" Yea... me too.

After fifty minutes a guy comes around from out back to help another customer. As he's making his way back to the garage I inquire about my keys. He looks a little embarrassed and says, "Oh, the Volvo? With VT plates?" Me: "Yessss?" Him: "Well, the guy who worked on your car drove it out, then went to lunch with your keys." Me: "Really? Could you try to find him?" Him: "Yea, I called him, but he's not answering." Wonderful.

I sit back down and Man Behind the Counter comes back from his break, "You're still here?" he asks. Me: "Yes... someone went to lunch with my keys in their pocket." Someone walks in the door. Man Behind the Counter: "Oh! There he is! Do you have this lady's keys." New Guy: "Nope. Hector worked on that car. I never touched 'dem keys." Me: staring blankly at the two of them.

At this point I have been waiting for 2.5 hours. A third guy comes from out back with a pair of keys that are not mine and puts them in the key cabinet. As he opens the door, are you ready for this? I. SEE. MY. KEYS. SITTING. THERE. Yes. They had been in the freakin' cabinet two feet from where I was standing for an hour and a half and I had no idea. Of course, neither did the people who were actually working there. Unbelievable.

At this point I'm breaking out in a cold sweat becuase I'm afraid that The Mom has arrived home to find a dog that hasn't been walked and a dishwasher that hasn't been emptied and a house that HAS been partied in. STRESS.

I rushed home to find that, no, The Mom hasn't made it home and the dog hasn't had an accident to I rush him out, unload the dishwasher, bring in the paper and head up to collapse on my bed. No sooner had my head hit the pillow than I hear the garage door open announcing the arrival of The Mom. I barely made it.

And? To top it off? I'm not even DONE telling you about the WORST part of my weekend. Yea. It gets worse.



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