Thursday, 5 March 2009

The morning….

Ida, my car, was making choked strangling please-piss-off-and-leave-me-alone-in-the-garage-as-I-am-not-well-today-and-I am-not-hauling-your-fat-arse-anywhere- sounds when I started her up. Well, too bad. I was late for work and I didn’t have time to deal with a hissy fit – but in saying that I did reverse out and leave the car running for a few moments while she dramatically choked and carried on like a pork chop (crazy person). On the 15 minute drive to work, lights on the dashboard were flashing constantly and I had the feeling that at any moment I would be Flintstoning the car. But I kept her moving and made it inside the parking lot just as the car died. I went inside and dumped my stuff and started to call the auto club to arrive and fix whatever boo-boo Ida had. I suspected it was the battery. Why? Am I a mechanical genius? No, it was the light the flashed the most.

As I was on hold, I mentioned casually to a male colleague that the car had conked out. He instantly started to tell me all the dire problems that could be happening to my car. It was this and that and they all would cost a fortune and I would probably have to have the car towed or a least leave it in the car park over night and that proper maintenance would have avoided this. My lips responded “Thank you – but I’m sure it’s just the battery” while my eyes said "bugger off you harbinger of doom.” I love men – they’re fascinating but sometimes they can be so negative and it’s not something you want to hear when you are mechanically challenged is it? And this is why I pay professionals to fix things and not deal with amateur theatricals.

Anyway the car club person came out and said "it’s the battery.” The harbinger of doom came out to hear the pronouncement and he just shook his head and walked away mumbling something about the ‘alternator’ and ‘this is only the start of your problems.’ Naturally, as with all spontaneous problems, I had no money on me so once more the credit card got a few more racing stripes on it…you have to love plastic.

The afternoon…

I went grocery shopping – yes, quel excitement but it was interesting because the guy on the checkout was covered in tatts. This is unusual as you rarely see a corporate money making giant with tattooed staff on display. They seem to hide them in the background. Anyway, me, being me, had to ask about the tatts as all things tattoo interest me at the moment. He had some beauties and my groceries were forgotten as he told me about each one…no, I did not get to see the ones on his thighs (probably against corporate policy to drop your strides) but the ones on his forearms and wrists were pretty specky (spectacular). They were all horror with screaming mouths, eyes in pain and blood dripping everywhere - kind of weird as he was such an amiable, soft spoken guy. I asked why the horror theme and he said ‘it’s just where I am in this moment of my life.’ Interesting. And yes, he confirmed that tatts do sting when being inked but even worst the next couple of days but the pain ‘was worth it to mark where I am in my life.’ Quite fascinating. I am just thinking now how I can use my grocery receipt as tax deduction due to my tattoo research for my books….
Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?