25 November 2008

Are You Wanting To Fix My Car?

Had to bring my car to the shop. Billy at the front desk entered my information into their dirty computer. "Something wrong with the Caddy, Beer?" he asked as he read the screen through a pair of spectacles like the ones Bob Newhart likes to wear.

"I didn't show up here to ask you out for a date Billy," I answered him.
"Well that's too bad," said Billy with a wink. "I could use dinner, a movie and a little loving."

Ever since I dropped off some beer for the boys in the repair shop after they worked late one night to get the Caddy rolling in time for a road trip we have gotten to be friends. The greasy motherfuckers think I am made out of beer. People will forget about cash tips but nobody forgets if they get tipped with booze or dope.

I was about to tell Billy I would rather fuck my dog than him when a Hindoo walked in. A turban Hindoo. There's a window to the shop so when one guy saw the visitor they all came up to the front desk to razz the guy.

You have heard it all before.

The Hindoo had heard it all before too. He went some place else.

My mechanics do not like people who are not white and they do not care who knows about it. There are a lot of people like that in my country.

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