In which Eva "Cranky Pants" Campodonico runs smack into a change of perspective.
The day started out well. I was in an endorphin-enhanced, pleasant state after my morning run with a view of sunrise over Eastrock. After waving goodbye to my running buddies I headed north up State Street to Montesi VW, humming and sweating happily as I drove. Today was the day to take Etta for an oil change and another attempt at fixing The Rattle that the mechanic has blamed on everything from a rusted out exhaust system (replaced) to bad wheel bearings (repacked).
"Looks like you're due for a 40,000 mile tune-up," said Andy.
"Yikes," said I, thinking that having arrived at 7:15 a.m., I would have been able to wait for about an hour while they poked and prodded Etta's underbelly and then I'd be off to the races.
"How long will that take?"
"Oh, two - two and a half hours including a look at The Rattle. I'll get you in first. Do you want to wait? It shouldn't be that long."
"Uh... okay." I'd brought a change of non-stinky clothes and some reading for my class so I went upstairs to de-stink and get settled.
After two hours, I'd read ahead several weeks' worth of assignments and I'd tired of listening to one of my fellow waiting room occupents trying to convince his neighbor that Jesus really did die for our sins and we shouldn't stray from the path of righteousness, etc... Not wanting to appear impatient, I thought I'd wait for the half hour to go by so that I'd pop my head downstairs at the late end of Andy's estimated time frame. During that half hour, it occured to me that while the reading materials had been a very productive impulse, a more pragmatic item to have tucked in my bag would have been BREAKFAST, especially after a four mile trot. Minutes began to creep by more slowly, Andy was nowhere to be found. The christian guy was now handing out pamphlets for his church to everyone in the waiting room.
As 10:30 wandered aimlessly toward 11, I tracked Andy down.
"Oh, yeah. They're working on it. Probably another 20 minutes."
At 12 p.m., I shifted camp downstairs so that I could sit in the sun and warm up and also so that I would be directly in Andy's line of vision in case he was forgetting me. If he couldn't see me, he'd definitely be able to hear my stomach growling. Eventually, he and the guy who had actually been tinkering with my car came out to talk to me together.
"So, you know that rattle you've been hearing?"
"Yeah. The rattle that started after you guys installed a retrofit that has never, like, FIT? Yeah, I know that rattle, I have you guys tighten things up every time I come in."
"Well, let's see if you can replicate that for us, let's go for a drive."
Fifteen minutes later, we're back. They have concluded that I'm hearing things and that most likely the rattle is coming from all the gear I haul around in my trunk. Ah, yes. The rattle of a box of powdered detergent... that must be it. Just in case though, Andy offered to replace the retrofit.
"How long?"
"Twenty minutes."
Unconvinced, I retreat to my sunny perch, hoping that at least the rattle will be gone for the first time in two years. I am now completely starving: it's almost 12:30, I've been there for five hours. I take to pacing in front the check-out desk. Every so often, I get glimpses of Andy meandering around the service area. I ask the lady behind the counter if she could check stuff out for me. She throws back some static about "Just twenty minutes" and "I'm just the messanger."
At 1 p.m., Andy comes to the front desk, looking skittish.
"So, uh, turns out that rattle you were hearing WAS coming from the retrofit we put on there."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, uh, it was a bad mold, y'know, like it was cast wrong, and uh, each time you hit a bump it was hitting a little nob that pokes out from your rear brakes. We replaced it."
"Thanks. Done?"
"Just finishing up..."
"Andy, I want my car back."
"Okay."
I drove home in a total hunger panic. What I shoved into my face is still a blur, I think there were crackers and cheese. Peanut butter was involved. And melon, definitely melon. Showered and fed, I cruised into lab at the fashionable hour of 2:30, still stewing and fuming and generally wretched about the nasty combination of bad time estimation and subtle condescension I'd been experiencing all morning. Just as I resigned myself to having a classic Eva the Dark Cloud kind of day, my friend (and fellow Middlebury College/Spatafora Lab alum) Vinny appeared around the corner from his lab next door.
"Guess what..." he said, bursting into a huge smile as he shoved a small sonogram photograph of his 14 week along baby towards me.
"I'm gonna be a dad!"
Of course, my rank and odious mood vanished instantly. Damn you Vinny! Just when I thought I could stew for an entire day about petty inconveniences, you have to come and show me something really wonderful and uncomplicated and good! Now I can't stop smiling! Damn you! Oh and the rattle really is gone, too, by the way. That's my story.
"Looks like you're due for a 40,000 mile tune-up," said Andy.
"Yikes," said I, thinking that having arrived at 7:15 a.m., I would have been able to wait for about an hour while they poked and prodded Etta's underbelly and then I'd be off to the races.
"How long will that take?"
"Oh, two - two and a half hours including a look at The Rattle. I'll get you in first. Do you want to wait? It shouldn't be that long."
"Uh... okay." I'd brought a change of non-stinky clothes and some reading for my class so I went upstairs to de-stink and get settled.
After two hours, I'd read ahead several weeks' worth of assignments and I'd tired of listening to one of my fellow waiting room occupents trying to convince his neighbor that Jesus really did die for our sins and we shouldn't stray from the path of righteousness, etc... Not wanting to appear impatient, I thought I'd wait for the half hour to go by so that I'd pop my head downstairs at the late end of Andy's estimated time frame. During that half hour, it occured to me that while the reading materials had been a very productive impulse, a more pragmatic item to have tucked in my bag would have been BREAKFAST, especially after a four mile trot. Minutes began to creep by more slowly, Andy was nowhere to be found. The christian guy was now handing out pamphlets for his church to everyone in the waiting room.
As 10:30 wandered aimlessly toward 11, I tracked Andy down.
"Oh, yeah. They're working on it. Probably another 20 minutes."
At 12 p.m., I shifted camp downstairs so that I could sit in the sun and warm up and also so that I would be directly in Andy's line of vision in case he was forgetting me. If he couldn't see me, he'd definitely be able to hear my stomach growling. Eventually, he and the guy who had actually been tinkering with my car came out to talk to me together.
"So, you know that rattle you've been hearing?"
"Yeah. The rattle that started after you guys installed a retrofit that has never, like, FIT? Yeah, I know that rattle, I have you guys tighten things up every time I come in."
"Well, let's see if you can replicate that for us, let's go for a drive."
Fifteen minutes later, we're back. They have concluded that I'm hearing things and that most likely the rattle is coming from all the gear I haul around in my trunk. Ah, yes. The rattle of a box of powdered detergent... that must be it. Just in case though, Andy offered to replace the retrofit.
"How long?"
"Twenty minutes."
Unconvinced, I retreat to my sunny perch, hoping that at least the rattle will be gone for the first time in two years. I am now completely starving: it's almost 12:30, I've been there for five hours. I take to pacing in front the check-out desk. Every so often, I get glimpses of Andy meandering around the service area. I ask the lady behind the counter if she could check stuff out for me. She throws back some static about "Just twenty minutes" and "I'm just the messanger."
At 1 p.m., Andy comes to the front desk, looking skittish.
"So, uh, turns out that rattle you were hearing WAS coming from the retrofit we put on there."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, uh, it was a bad mold, y'know, like it was cast wrong, and uh, each time you hit a bump it was hitting a little nob that pokes out from your rear brakes. We replaced it."
"Thanks. Done?"
"Just finishing up..."
"Andy, I want my car back."
"Okay."
I drove home in a total hunger panic. What I shoved into my face is still a blur, I think there were crackers and cheese. Peanut butter was involved. And melon, definitely melon. Showered and fed, I cruised into lab at the fashionable hour of 2:30, still stewing and fuming and generally wretched about the nasty combination of bad time estimation and subtle condescension I'd been experiencing all morning. Just as I resigned myself to having a classic Eva the Dark Cloud kind of day, my friend (and fellow Middlebury College/Spatafora Lab alum) Vinny appeared around the corner from his lab next door.
"Guess what..." he said, bursting into a huge smile as he shoved a small sonogram photograph of his 14 week along baby towards me.
"I'm gonna be a dad!"
Of course, my rank and odious mood vanished instantly. Damn you Vinny! Just when I thought I could stew for an entire day about petty inconveniences, you have to come and show me something really wonderful and uncomplicated and good! Now I can't stop smiling! Damn you! Oh and the rattle really is gone, too, by the way. That's my story.
posted by Eva Marie at 7:01 PM
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