Wednesday, February 17, 2016
I took the RV in for service and had to wait for it.....
I am in hell. For $95-freakin-dollars-an-hour to get the rv worked on, and yes, I am having to wait for it, the only place to wait is in the office and it reeks of smoke. REEKS. The WiFi is on life support and just about 1/2 bar of service. Perhaps I should be just sitting outside instead but it's cold. There was no good solution to the drop off of said vehicle and so I'm here..waiting...and I don't know whether to be amused or horrified. While in hell at this place, with it's limited levels of breathing quality due to the reek of smoke and oil and assorted other overly strong flavors, the front desk person is holding conversation. Many of them on the phone with a variety of different individuals and thank God, not me, but still, slightly disturbing.
Phone chat A involved dark and sinister references to "getting what you deserve" and that "in this case she's lucky", followed by "she's looking at 60 years". Crikey. That ain't your basic shoplifting escapade is it.
Phone chat B rotated between cookies that need to be sold and gaining entry to Six Flags Amusement park. Guess these days the sale of cookies, assumed to be Girl Scout brand, offers the seller the chance to be rewarded with thrills and rides and fun. And that's great except that I personally am not going to the park and I don't see a single damn cookie anywhere yet by having to listen to all this I'm feeling as if I should be at least offered a cookie. Nothing.
Conversation A is shaped as a request to a customer which came to retrieve his vehicle. While checking out he was asked if he'd like to adopt a 12 year old. Erk. Unsure if that is the cookie-seller or the one facing 60 years but I know that you can't have it both ways....if you are headed to the slammer for decades I'm pretty sure you don't get a pass to Six Flags.
At this point the reekage of cigarettes, old vehicles and mold(?) has temporarily affected my speech and breathing. And phone, since it seems unable to communicate with the outside world either. I don't want to walk back into the source of the reek to try and find out when I can escape this place but I'm dying (literally) to know if I'm close to making bail. Wait.... a door just opened and a clipboard sailed out of the cloud of smoke and landed on a nearby desk. Maybe it's me and I'm going to get out alive....where there is fresh air and absence of commentary on every damn detail of someone else's life. If she just could get off the phone I have a shot at life.