Reflections On A Middle-Aged Fat Woman (12 page)

You don't want to go to so-and-so because of this, that and the other or you could go to them but they'll charge you an arm and a leg. We all agreed that it would be better to take it to a small shop versus one of those big name places or even the Ford Dealership because they charge way too much money.

They finally recommended a guy in the next town about 20 miles away but I thought I would try a guy that Mom had used to fix her air conditioner for half the price of everyone else. I drove over to this fella's place and he listened intently as I told him what the problem was and what had been done so far.

"I'm gonna be honest with you," he said. "I'm not the man for the job. There's a guy in the next town that you need to go see. He's not only a Ford man; he's a Ford Mustang transmission man.”

I called Mom on the way to let her know what was going on. "Didn't sound like the transmission to me," she said. “It's missing; you ever had that thing tuned up?"

“It's not a thing, Mom. It's a Mustang!" I said.

“Whatever. I know what a car sounds like when it's missing. You better hope the engine is missing and not the transmission. That'll set you back at least four grand. Where you gonna get that kind of money? If you still worked at the Post Office, you might've had the money. I know you wanted to pursue your dream of being a writer and wanted something a little more interesting than selling stamps; but, I bet you didn't think that you was gonna need a new transmission.

“Well, I gotta go to Bingo. Call me if you need me to come get you while they work on your car."

Click!

I pulled into the parking lot of the Ford transmission guy's shop and walked into a place that was straight out of a movie. No doubt about it, this place was a garage. The office, if you could call it that, had a torn, black leather couch and two bar stools that leaned slightly to the left.

On the walls, was picture after picture of souped up cars and a cabinet filled with trophies and ribbons from various car shows.

As I peered into the service area, I could see various cars in differing stages of being worked on. I saw the usual Mac tool toolboxes, air hoses, and grease rags strewn about the place and a couple of girlie calendars placed in strategic locations, supposedly only visible to the mechanics.

As I was standing there, a man, small in stature, but big in hair (he looked like he was from a 80s hair band) (watch out, Def Leppard) walked up to me and said, "Can I hep ya with somethin'?"

"I hear you're the guy to see about a Ford Mustang transmission," I replied.

"What's the problem?"

I told him what was going on and how I had made my way to see him and finally he said, "Well, what we waitin' for? Let's take her for a spin and see what she'll do." And for the second time that day, my car laid rubber down as she was taken out for another spin.

We drove about a mile up the road before hair guy pulled off to the side of the road. There, he put his foot on the brake and revved up the engine with the car in drive.
Errrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkk!
That's the sound my new tires made as he listened to the noises that the engine was making. "There ain't nothin' wrong with your transmission; it's the engine. Hear that? That sputtering? It's missing. When's the last time you had a tuneup?" he asked.

"I've never had a tune-up," I replied.

"All you need is some new spark plugs and wires; I'll clean out the fuel filter. It still could be the coil package. (What's that?) I got this computer (he does) that will run all of the diagnostics and help narrow it down. It’s gonna be a couple hours though; we got a lot of irons in the fire right now. You can wait in the office, but watch those stools, they lean a little—big girl like you might not be too comfortable."

Relieved once again that it wasn't the transmission I let the comment about the "big girl" slide. I didn't want to piss this man off. I needed him to fix my car.

Over the next few hours I watched and listened to the happenings in this place that was totally foreign to me. There were several men hanging around getting their vehicles worked on and they liked to talk. In fact, hair guy liked to talk, too! I don't know how they got any work done, but between muffled guffaws and spits of chewing tobacco those vehicles being repaired were flying out of the place.

Hair guy walked into the office one time and told me how things were going. Noticing all of the pictures and trophies of the old cars I asked him if he had ever been up to the Cruise In that Mom and I visited a few weeks ago. Of course, I told him all the details and especially that these cars cruise up and down the road, not just set in a parking lot with the hoods up. "I might have to check it out," he said. "Write down the information for me."

A while later he came back in and told me that I was ready to go. My engine had in fact been missing. (Mom was right.) He installed new plugs and wires, cleaned the fuel throttle and replaced the air filter. He told me at first that it was going to be $275 but since I had tipped him off about the Cruise In up in Kentucky he would only charge me $250. (Worked for me.)

As I was getting ready to leave we started chit chatting about old cars. "What kind of car do you have?" I asked.

"I gotta '57 Chevy," he said. “But don’t tell the Ford people, you wanna see it?"

"Sure!"

"Follow me," he said. We walked back through the service area and through a door that I hadn't previously seen. In the room was car parts of all kinds and in the back corner, under a tarp, sat the Chevy. As he reached to pull off the cover he paused slightly, "I know what you're gonna say. What color is that? I don't want to offend you or anything but it’s got an unusual name."

Somehow, I already knew what the color of that car was going to be.

Yep, it was titty pink!

Senior Day At The Cinema — August 28, 2009

Mom called the other day and asked if I wanted to go see the new movie about Julia Child titled
Julie and Julia
. I agreed to go since I didn't have anything better to do. We decided to go to the afternoon matinee and went to Applebee’s for lunch. It was really a hard decision about lunch because we usually like to go to Red Lobster when we're in the neighboring town.

Anyhow, lunch was mostly uneventful. We got the Horatio Cane of waitresses. She tried having a conversation with us and wouldn't even look our way. She kept looking out the window and down at the floor. If you're unsure about what I'm referring to check out
CSI Miami
and watch Horatio. He's always looking down and has his head tilted funny. Weird!

We purchased our tickets, bitched about the price of the popcorn and walked inside the movie theater. I thought it was strange when the lady selling the tickets said that we had purchased the last two tickets and the movie was now sold out. It was a Wednesday afternoon, school had already started back and I didn't think that this movie was supposed to be a blockbuster or anything. I soon got my answer when we arrived in Theater Two; the place was packed.

It was filled with row upon row of old people, namely senior citizens. I was the youngest person in there by about thirty years. Even Mom, who ain't a spring chicken any longer, looked at me strangely. What the heck's going on she seemed to be thinking. Did they get senior price? Did they get a group discount?

How can I get in this group? I knew that these thoughts were probably running through Mom's head.

We found two seats up in the very last row and after tripping over two walking canes, a walker on wheels and a prosthetic leg we settled into our seats.

The movie started and we were about thirty minutes into it when the tape broke. Mom elbowed me and decided that she wanted popcorn after all and now would be a good time to get it. I agreed and had started down the steps when I heard someone ask me if I was going to the concession stand. I stopped and looked towards the voice and was startled to see the smallest little old lady imaginable. I said I was and she asked if I would get her something, too. Her legs don't move so good especially when she's been sitting awhile. I nodded in agreement, collected her money and started back down the steps.

Another voice chimed in. And then another. Finally, once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I just asked the entire audience who wanted popcorn. Almost every hand in the theater wobbled upright. I looked a little scared, I think, because the lady on the bottom row said, "Come on honey, I'll help you."

It seems in the rush to get the Soothing Waters Assisted Living Home residents inside the theater before the movie started someone had neglected to ask the seniors if they wanted any refreshments. And that's how for the next thirty minutes, me and my helper, Genevieve, made about twenty-five trips to the concession stand.

The manager of the theater noticed what we were doing and didn't restart the movie until we had finished. Everyone had popcorn and everyone had a drink!

Well, almost.

When I walked backed up the stairs totally exhausted to reclaim my seat Mom gave me a quizzical look. "Where's my popcorn?" she asked.

Seens At The Funeral Home — September 9, 2009

My neighbor died the other day. I can't really say anything about her because I didn't know her. We were neighbors for fifteen years (she was the wife of the banker that lived on the other side of me) and I had never been in their house. Sometimes, we would exchange waves if we saw each other out back or I might glimpse her at the mailbox as I drove past. I know she fed the stray cats that seemed to multiply like crazy every few months.

I saw her husband more often. He had a real nice riding lawn mower (Cub Cadet) and I couldn't help but watch him as he mowed. I have a thing about riding lawn mowers. He's come over to the house once or twice to offer assistance when I was trying to get out of the driveway after an ice storm.

He always thought I was nuts trying to drive thirty miles to work on a sheet of ice. But, you know the old Post Office motto: Neither through sleet, snow or blah, blah, blah shall deter us from our duty and I always arrived in one piece. (I did have a few close calls.)

When I heard the news of her passing several thoughts passed through my mind. First, I was sorry for the family, and second, I was glad it wasn't someone in my family. Then I wondered if I should go to visitation, send flowers, or take over food. I'm not sure if I would even be recognized in dress clothes or not, not that it mattered.

After sleeping on it I decided I would go to the visitation. It seemed like the neighborly thing to do. When I pulled up to the facility for visitation I noticed my neighbor's name on the marquee. You see, when you utilize this particular funeral home they put your name up in lights outside on a large sign. I used to think this was strange but I've driven past several times and wondered who they had and all I had to do was look at the sign.

I was a little apprehensive as I walked up the steps. What do I say? What if I say the wrong thing? What if everyone wonders who I am? What if everyone knows who I am and wonders why I came? Why didn't I just send some flowers? Maybe I shouldn't have worn pants? Does my hair look okay? Will I know anyone? I hope I don't know anybody. I'll just sign the book and leave.

I walked into Chapel D and immediately saw my neighbor. He was wearing a dark suit and was seated on a stool beside his wife's coffin. He looked beaten and haggard, had dark circles under his eyes and glanced at me with a look of surprise.

I was behind a lady who obviously was a family friend. I listened as they traded small talk about how long it had been since they had seen one another. How what a nice lady she was. How she loved crossword puzzles and loved to bake. He had tried to get her to go places at times but she always seemed content at home. She had a relatively new car and had only put 2500 miles on it in the last three years. She went to the Piggly Wiggly every Sunday after church and bought the week's groceries.

As the lady drifted away it was my turn to offer my condolences. He thanked me several times for coming and I commented on who was now going to feed the cats. He gave a small chuckle and said he didn't know but he had fed them this morning. My neighbor said his wife loved feeding those cats even though they were strays. It gave her great joy.

I had learned more about that nice lady in the last five minutes than I had known for the previous fifteen years.

Don't worry about your strays, friend, I'll make sure they get fed.

After all, it's the neighborly thing to do...

Seens From The Salad Bar — September 21, 2009

I've been really busy lately and hadn't seen much of Mom so I was tickled when she called and wanted to know if I wanted to take her out to eat. She had a 2-for-1 coupon on select dishes at Ruby Tuesday and if we both drank water we should be able to keep the tab under twenty bucks.

I met her at the restaurant and it seemed like everyone wanted to use their coupon that night; the place was packed. As we were waiting to be seated I noticed a woman behind us that was totally perturbed that she had to wait. She was fussing about the line, she was fussing about the wait time, she was fussing because she had to wait outside, and she was fussing because she didn't have a 2-for-1 coupon.

We were seated after a short wait and were both glad to be away from that lady. She was trying to ruin our dinner. Mom, who was in charge of the coupon, kept waving it around like it was a thousand dollar bill or something. I told her to drop it but she said she didn't want to forget about it. The waitress took our drink orders, she ordered a sweet tea and I got a Diet Coke. (We forgot to get water.)

I needed to excuse myself for a moment and passed the grumpy lady being led to her table as I was walking to the ladies room. I muttered to myself that I hoped that lady didn't end up sitting beside us.

Upon returning to my seat I wasn't too surprised to see the old windbag at the table right beside me and her chair was right beside mine. Mom was grinning like she had just hit the jackpot at one of her weekly Bingo contests and had grabbed the coupon and started waving it around again.