I overhear this exchange at the dentist’s office this morning.
Receptionist: “Okay, how does 10:30 on Tuesday, December eighth sound?”
Patient: “What?”
Receptionist: “How does 10:30 on Tuesday, December eighth sound?”
Patient: “Yeah, that should work. Is that a Monday?”
Receptionist: “No, it’s a Thursday.”
I didn’t buy my first car until after I graduated college in the mid-2010s. I was in a situation where I had the cash to buy a decent used one. I’d done some research online and found a local small dealership that had a car I thought was decent — a 2001 Dodge Intrepid — and asked my dad to come along because I’m no car expert.
When we arrived at the dealership, the owner started talking about the car and showing it to us, and then he allowed us to take a test drive. I got in, put the key in the ignition, and started it up. Immediately, my dad and I both heard something off.
Dad: *Glancing at the owner* “That doesn’t sound good. It sounds like there’s an issue with the timing belt or chain.”
Neither of us knew for sure if it was a timing belt or chain on this specific model, and it was in a spot that you basically had to take the engine apart to see, so we couldn’t verify even after opening the hood.
Owner: “Oh, we just got it. The woman who we got it from assured us that the timing belt was just replaced. It’s fine.”
Both my dad and I were wary, but we took it on a test drive and everything went fine. We negotiated with the guy, and I wrote him a check and drove the car home. I liked it a lot; for my first car, it wasn’t bad even for its age, and it suited my needs at the time.
Exactly a month after I bought it, I was dropping my mom off at work before I went to work one morning and the car just died. No alerts, warnings, or lights, just flat dead. I’d just barely started the turn into the parking lot where she works, so I popped it into neutral and managed to get it into guest parking.
I called my dad, who drove me to work and helped arrange things with a tow truck so that we could get the car back to the dealer. The dealership also had a small shop, and when I bought the car, part of the deal was that if anything happened, the owner wouldn’t charge me for labor.
It took a couple of days and he reached out to me.
Owner: “It looks like your timing chain essentially disintegrated. I can try and fix it, but since I’m not charging you, this could take a while.”
Me: “What kind of time frame, and what are you thinking is going to be the process to fix it?”
Owner: “I’m going to have to see if I can find a new chain and get that on there.”
I went to a friend who happened to own a mechanic shop and asked their opinion on the situation.
Friend: “It’s not going to be cheap, but your best bet is going to be a new engine. Honestly, on a car that old, I’d see what you can get for it and just wash your hands of it. Unfortunately, you’re going to end up putting more into it than you paid, and with the way he brushed off your questions initially, I’d be worried about what else could potentially be wrong that they either didn’t verify or didn’t bother to fix.”
I ended up reaching out to a junk place and sold them the car for like $150. In the interim of getting that handled, I went to an actual car dealership and got a different used car. When I showed up to transfer stuff to the junk people, the dealership owner then tried to convince me to buy another car from him. I just told him I’d gotten my car situation handled and left.
I worked for the Small Business Administration in Seattle as a secretary.
We had one gal who was the director’s secretary. Every morning, her husband would call, and they would spend sixty to ninety minutes going over the horse races at our local race track. This would leave just one person to answer calls, etc. After that, she would take a break, come back, and then take an extended lunch.
She always told the director that she was SO BUSY and that was why her work was chronically behind.
She went on vacation for two weeks and I was asked to fill in. The very first day, I had her huge backup of charts done and back to the loan officers, answered the phone, and kept everything else current.
The director called me into his office on my last day before she came back.
Director: “What’s your secret for getting everything done?”
Me: “I actually worked and didn’t spend the day on the phone with personal calls.”
About two weeks later, she was finally reprimanded for excessive personal calls during work hours.
A few months into my freshman year of college, something very strange happened. Out of the blue, whenever I touched my eyes or the area around them, they would sting and burn painfully. I first noticed when I was taking out my contact lenses. After finally getting the lenses out, I tossed them straight into the trash and washed my hands thoroughly.
The next morning, I got a new pair, but when I put them in, I got the same burning sensation. Even after swimming laps in a chlorine pool, showering, and washing my hands several more times, the phenomenon persisted.
I ended up wearing my glasses instead of my contacts for a while. Even after a few days, when I’d experimentally get a finger close to see if I could wear contacts again — because my eyesight is really bad, and peripheral vision is nice — I could feel the heat starting. As the X-Men movies had come out recently, I started joking that I must be developing superpowers.
Fortunately, I ended up making that joke to a friend who remarked that my symptoms sounded like I’d been exposed to pepper spray or something similar. He asked if I carried any, and I produced my keychain bottle of the same. But I hadn’t had a need to use it, so why would it be on my hands? He took the bottle, smelled it, rubbed it, and finally solved the mystery.
Friend: “The pepper spray is leaking. You’ve been getting it on your hands every time you grab your keys. Throw it away, wash your hands again, and wait another couple of days before trying contacts again.”
So much for superpowers…
I’m a bus assistant on a special needs bus. One day, the bus driver and I were pulling out of the bus lot when a bee flew in through an open window. Not wanting to get stung, I quickly moved to another seat.
Me: “Oh, bee! Nope, not happening today.”
The driver pulled over to the side of the parking lot.
Driver: “I can get it. Bees listen to me.”
Me: *Laughing* “What?”
Driver: “No, I’m serious.”
She put the bus in park, grabbed a sheet of paper, and walked to the seat the bee was crawling on.
Driver: “Come here, bee.”
To my surprise, it crawled onto the paper. She stuck the paper with the bee out the open window.
Driver: “Okay, fly away now.”
And the bee did exactly as it was told. We continued on our bus route with zero bees.
