October 24, 2005

• Car Clutter Reaches Critical mass: Violence Narrowly Averted

  When I got my fancy “new” (fifteen year-old) car, I was delighted to
  see it had a futuristic curved dashboard, totally useless for storing
  things on.  My old car’s dash was magnetic, it attracted so much
  stuff, I had a stuffalanche every time I went around a corner too
  fast.  So I figured, no more clutter problem.  Wrong!!!! So
  much stuff  has accumulated on the front seat that it cascades to
  the floor every time I hit the brakes.  The clutter has
  metasticized to the center console and back seat, and now has reached
  critical proportions.

  This became glaringly obvious today–I stopped off to feed the feral
  cats at my stand, and discovered that the large plastic mug I scoop the
  kibble with had disapperared in the clutter.  I was on the
  verge of screaming and just throwing out on the ground a few things
  like three large empty pizza boxes, a three by ten foot sheet of
  Visqueen, cassette tapes,  five  knives, dirty laundry, paper
  towels, VHS cassettes, a tube of Tommy Hilfiger hand cream (from the
  dumpster!), a small bottle of Drakkar Noir cologne (also FTD), a 
  book from the Palmer Public Library (also FTD–WTF?), several CDs,
  a can of touch-up paint, a box of Trioxane bars (that were SUPPOSED to
  go to Kathy), a large spray bottle of Windex (ALSO supposed to go to
  Kathy), a set of jumper cables, two empty water jugs,  seventeen
  plastic bags, and a partridge in a pear tree.  But reason
  prevailed–I merely resolved to clean out the mess at my earliest
  possible convenience, probably some time in the spring of 2012.

  What made it even more fun was finding that some of the stuff was wet and icy, meaning that something
  had leaked– and I still don’t know what.  So I was  not
   a happy camper when I got to the gas station, and found that the
  pumps I generally use were useless, out of service.  As addicts
  tend to be, I am a creature of habit–now, habit serves me–makes
  things easier to remember. So I found other pumps, and went in to
  pre-pay.  God,  I miss the old days–you drove your LaSalle
  into a real service station, a neatly-uniformed man would come out,
  fill your tank, clean your windows, check the oil and tires, and give
  you a free ceramic coffee mug if you got a fill-up–of gas that cost 35
  cents a gallon.  Sigh.  But I digress.  I handed over
  $40, asked the counter clerk  if the air hose had been
  repaired–it was out of service the last time I was there, and I have
  slow leaks in two of my tires.    The clerk, a
  vacuous blonde, said she didn’t know..  Well, hell, why should
  she, the ignorant bitch only WORKS there. . . . I stomped around to the back–yep, still out of service. Rats!

  The car “only” took $35.29, so I go back in for my change. 
  “Are you here for your change?” she asks.  Well, duh, I
  thought.  “We’re not giving change back today, we’re keeping it,”
  she giggled, exchanging a conspiratorial look with the  fattie at
  the other register.  I wanted to say “Don’t fuck with me, girlie,
  I am armed and in a bad mood”–actually,  I  really
  wanted to just  shoot her and be done with it.   I
  couldn’t think of the word “mood,” anyway. After lengthy
  negotiations, I finally got my lousy $4.71, and  said “By the way,
  if anyone else asks, the air hose is STILL useless,” and walked out.

  I wonder when moron season opens, I really need to get my license this year.

  • 3:41 pm
  • 5 Comments