Lubed, Jiffy Lubed

I’m usually super anal retentive about getting the oil changed in my car. I reach 4,000 miles, and I’m so there. For whatever reason, I waited 6500 miles this time. And my car, unfortunately, is finicky enough to protest about not having an oil change in some time. In this instance, it decided to emit just enough smoke that wafted from my garage to the upstairs portion of my house. This set off the smoke detectors, albeit for a few moments at a time. Each time this happened, which just happened to coincide with a day that I’d really needed a nap, I got out of bed, and went down to the garage to make sure that my Saturn hadn’t passive-aggressively turned itself into a fireball. Finally, I just took a nap, beeping in the background from the smoke detectors and all.

(I had a dream about being a submarine commander on that day, but that’s a story for another time.)

The next day, I decided, I’d be seeking an oil change. I got out of bed extra early to ensure that I’d arrive at Jiffy Lube early enough that I wouldn’t get stuck in the morning rush (yes, it seems that people — en masse — do get their oil changed before work!). Strangely, when I arrived at Jiffy Lube, nobody was there, except for the usual Jiffy Lube cabal, or lube platoon, or however you’d like to refer to their so-called associates.

I waited for the usual rigamarole (trying to sell me wiper blades, transmission flushes, tire rotations and that kind of garbage), but strangely, it never happened. Then, crew chief — let’s call him Burly Bob — appeared in the lobby.

Bob: “Sir, would you be interested in hearing about today’s special?”
Me: “Er, okay?”

(Bracing self for inevitable offering of transmission or tire this-and-that.)

Bob: “Today’s special is a cash-only $20 oil change.”
Me: “That’s fine. Sure, go ahead.”
Bob: (pausing) “You see, one day each week, I like to treat my crew to lunch, and this seems like the perfect way.”
Me: (laughing) “Ha, okay.”

You see, never in a million years would I expect so blatant of a scam, so I’d assumed that Burly Bob was kidding. I mean, who would have the chutzpah to tell a customer that they were going to skim $20 off the top of this Jiffy Lube franchise’s earnings, so that he could treat his co-workers to french fries, sugary soda, and reconstituted cow parts?

Well, the answer is: “Burly Bob was happy to skim. And skim he did.”

After they were done with the oil change, Burly Bob reappeared.

Bob: “You’re all set, sir.”

I handed him $20, and he didn’t even attempt to look at the computer to cash me out.

Oh, I guess that he wasn’t kidding about treating his crew to lunch.

On my way out, Burly Bob tried to make nice with me.

Burly Bob: “Sir?”
Me: “Yes?”
Burly Bob: “You do know that I wouldn’t do this normally, right?”
Me: “Er, okay.”
Burly Bob: “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. okay?”
Me: “Even if I told someone, who would believe me?”
Burly Bob: (with look on face of rage, de-escalating into a look of confusion then contemplation) “Yeah, I guess nobody would.”

So, let it stand, then. I guess that nobody would believe that I’d been lubed.

Instant Change

Aside from having been in a relationship with S, I hadn’t had a social life for something like two years. While I am by no means a social butterfy (I’m an ISTJ on that stupid Myers Briggs personality analysis test), I do like to see friends once a week. And, when I get the chance, I like to socialize with co-workers, generally people that I’ve either worked with in the past — or people with whom I’ve been to battle. My previous company, of course, made sure that I didn’t get together with any friends outside of work, and also made sure that I had few allies on the inside, either. Well, they thought that JC and I wouldn’t spend our weekends at work kibitzing and eating big salads — in between the suffering — but boy, where they wrong.

I started the new job today, and I’m so enthused! I’m emoting, even, something that’s not my nature. From the get-go, the work that I’ll be doing sounds exactly what I’ve been missing for the last 3 years. I get to be creative at work (that is, I’ll be responsible for implementing and changing certain things), and this is a darned good thing. When I get the chance to study, write, and design in the workplace, I’m the happiest. When I’m given some degree of independence, I’m not sure if I should take to setting fires, or even looting!

On the social front, looks like I have two sets of plans this week. My calendar is almost chock full of notes, suddenly, other than “duck when you hear gunfire”, and “stop pitying yourself like Peter Murphy”.

Yay!

India Chronicles (IC): General Observations

As many of you know, I’d spent a couple of weeks in India in early March 2004. While I’m the events that took place definitely meant a change in my father’s life, strangely these events were a major eye-opener for me.

Without divulging family information, except to reiterate that my father is doing better, I’ve decided to share some general impressions of India, and why I believe it’s such a confounded place.

The trip made me realize, in short, that I’m both a better and worse person than I’d thought. The trip also made me appreciate the U.S.A. more than I’d ever thought that I could. Does this mean that I’m going to suddenly turn against flag-burners and start quoting the scriptures in this blog to signify my endorsement of Natural Law? Nope. Does this mean that I believe the U.S.A. are always the good guys? Nope. But what I got a taste of is how stunningly high of a standard of living we have in the U.S.A.

To offer something up to you: people in South Central Los Angeles undoubtedly have a higher standard of living than the typical Indian. Don’t believe me? Let me offer these general observations about India.

1. When the airplane landed at Sahara Airport in Bombay (Mumbai), the rear wheel of the plane nearly clipped a building, or at least it did from my vantage point. How was this? There’s a slum at the end of the runway … of an international airport. Some of these buildings — which are built out of corrogated materials and trash — are two stories in height. It’s really pretty remarkable.

2. I’ve never seen so many poor

Goodbye, Short-Timer

I have less than 48 hours left at my current company. This is very exciting!

In the meantime, I’ve found myself with a new nickname at the plant: short-timer. Passer-bys, apparently with some knowledge of my impending departure, started referring to me as short-timer about two days ago.

It didn’t bother me, actually, because I’d realized that my company had worked me like a dog for the last two years. So, I did the obvious thing.

I calculated my seniority in dog years.

You owe me a pension, bitches.