Christene had about 45 minutes to kill the other day, while she waiting not-so-patiently for the Dodge dealership to be done with the quick-fix of her car's mirror. She was bored.
The following are messages I received in about a 45-second span.
"I wish a giant* would come along and write me one of those big cheques and pay for the car to be fixed."
"All the salesmen here are slimy douchebags."
"Seriously, I don't like them. If I had to work here, I'd drive one of the cars through the big glass windows."
"You know... just like the monster truck in Roadhouse."
Then, mercifully, a 10 second break...
Christene: The fixing guy just walked past me and told me that my car is almost done."
Me: The fixing guy? You mean the mechanic?
Christene: I suppose you could call him that.
The lesson here? Don't let your girlfriend break her car's side mirror. And if she does, maybe turn off your phone while she gets it fixed.
*full disclosure: Christene and I have an inside joke about giants. Usually she wishes "a giant would come along" because she wants to be picked up by said giant and moved to wherever it is she is too lazy to go.
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