Smug Honda Man Will Always Be Smug

Let me start off by saying . . .

It is completely unnecessary for the professors to send out “courtesy” emails reminding us that we are failing. Of course my grade is below a D, I haven’t been to class in a month. If it was an A, I’d be ecstatic. So thank you for insulting my intelligence once more, sir.

Anyway, I agreed to to write two articles for a website on stress management and the effects of stress on the mind and body. I promised it by tomorrow without reminding myself that I have three hours of class tonight. So guess who’ll be sneaking in little sentences here and there while she’s watching a movie in class? This chick.

The more I think about it, the more giddy I get knowing I’ve spent over 80% of this week writing. I think it’s time to put myself back out there. Maybe I’ll start publishing stories again or see what there is available online; whatever it is, I’ll find it. It’s really helped me stay calm this week.

wpid-img_20151112_143306.jpgThat all got thrown out the window this morning because I needed to take my car to get smogged. Ugg, that’s such a pain in the ass. Well, for me it is. I’ve been procrastinating with it because I despise setting foot on unfamiliar ground. I’ve had my car for almost two years now, which is awesome, but I haven’t done a lot of maintenance on it. It’s got a small oil leak somewhere in the valve covers (of which I could probably fix myself if I can find the leak) and it’s got suspension issues. I got the ball joints done but I still need the control arm bushings done.

We always take it to the same shop the previous owner did. I made the mistake of letting my mother come with me one time, mostly because there were a lot of people in the shop and I couldn’t speak under all the stress. She told the dudes to do a maintenance check on it to see what needed to be done.

We all know that’s the last thing you tell a mechanic. They tried telling us my suspension cost would be over two thousand dollars and that they couldn’t do just one section at a time for us.

Little liars. I knew they were lying because I’d researched it before we went.

So we had to go to another small local shop and they did the ball joints for us, just to get rid of some of the brutal metal-scraping-against-metal sound that erupted from my car whenever I went over a bump or turned left.

Anyway, we have to go to a different place to get it smogged, some guy my mom has gone to for the last thirty years. Apparently it’s a custom there to park in front of the garage rather than in a designated spot and leave your car running while you talk to the guys. I . . . I don’t understand that.

I was already on high alert of being surrounded by broken vehicles and rich European cars (BMW, Mercedes) getting dumped in the back of the shop next door because they’d hit 100,000 miles and needed to be tossed out.

That’s a joke.

This Is Also A Joke

But really, there were some really nice, new “luxury” cars getting towed into the lot next to us and I stood beside my waxed, shining, tinted, 99′ dodge laughing at them.

Because I did not park in the designated spot, I looked like an idiot sitting there when the guy told us to park in a spot because there was one woman in front of us with a Nissan that also needed a smog. So I parked in her spot.

Let me just say there were three open spots in the lot, but my mother insisted I park in front of the garage to talk to the guys because “that’s how things are done here”.


So I parked. Some smug dude in black sunglasses pulled up behind me horizontally, left his car running in the middle of the driveway, and went over to talk to the guy with his wife. When it was my turn to get into the lot, this little arrogant prick just stood around staring off into the sun rotting his already pin-head sized brain while I tried maneuvering my car around his. Finally he got the idea before I hit his piece of shit Honda.

He inched forward.

An inch.

At this point my adrenaline is running, my anxiety is blocking my thoughts, and I already considered this day a failure.

He made me park like a crooked asshole in the garage and took my spot. Stupid fucker.

My car passed with flying colors. I guess compared to a Tesla perhaps not, but cut me some slack. This car was 1600 dollars; Tesla’s are 75,000+.

I’ll never forget smug Honda man and his short pudgy wife.

But I did not die; that’s the important thing. I breathed and I pushed through it and now I’m not entirely unfamiliar with that place. Slowly but surely. This morning wasn’t a failure, it was a tiny, tiny success, about the size of the fucking centimeter that asshole moved his car.

I should have just hit it and said oops, you were in my way.

Anyway, success nonetheless. It’s important to compliment yourself when you accomplish something against the odds of your anxiety, even when it’s something small; it builds your confidence.

I’m also aware that I cuss like a sailor. I’ll have to remember that when I’m writing these other two articles. Some people like crude jokes, others want to stay professional, so I suppose I should learn quickly to switch between the two.