That Funky Monkey

I just went to Grease Monkey to get my oil changed. When I entered the lobby area, there were two women waiting for their cars to be ready. Obviously I didn't look at them (Hi, Legal Counsel!), but this information was relayed to me by a third party.

The first girl was very obviously from a sorority - blonde hair, signs of an eating disorder, fully accessorized outfit, cold soulless eyes...the whole routine. Also, she apparently loved pink. Everything she was wearing - sandals, sweat pants, camisole, exposed bra strap (real classy), gigantic sunglasses - was totally pink. I think I've already expressed my opinion that fully color-matching sorority girls in sweat pants look like retired women in Florida, so I won't belabor that point.

Everything this girl said was a question. You know, the way your voice goes up at the end of a sentence to turn it interrogatory? This is what I heard:

Grease Monkey: Would you like me to go over what was done?
Sorority Girl: Okay?
...
GM: Would you like us to clean out your fuel injectors?
SG: I don't think so?
...
GM: Everything checked out okay and your car is ready.
SG: Thank you?
...
GM: Here's your receipt.
SG: Does it have a list of everything that was done?

Okay, that last one was actually a question. But still, she looked and sounded like Brittany Taylor from Daria. Hilarious...

The other woman looked exactly like Kevin Smith's wife, except more weathered. Maybe the way Kevin Smith's wife would look if Kevin Smith was enlisted to fight in a war by the Navy, leaving her to split her time between working at a munitions factory and staring out into the ocean longingly. This pseudo-Schwalbach also had the voice of a three-year old. A three year old with a lisp. She also had a Shih Tzu, which I assume was named FlufferNutter.

I was sitting there listening to CMT (which was on their TV) and reading my microbiology notes, when I randomly looked up at the perfect time. Why the perfect time? Well, I managed to witness something mighty peculiar. Kevin Smith's worn-torn wife took a swig of water from a Dasani bottle, then spit it straight onto the floor. It didn't look like an accident, although it didn't look totally intentional. Kind of like the first time Jeff Goldblum vomit-drops digestive enzymes onto his food in The Fly. Very peculiar.

Of course she looks around to see if anybody noticed. Of course I noticed. But of course I managed to make it look like I was reading. The next thing she does, for which I must applaud, is attempt to use her Shih Tzu as a mop to clean it up. It's that kind of resourcefulness that makes America great. The dog resists her efforts and she eventually asks one of the Grease Monkeys for a napkin. I'm so glad I saw that.

Shortly thereafter, both women's cars are ready and they leave. As they leave, this scrawny employee holds the door for each of them. And naturally checks them out as they walk by. Guys are so sleazy, myself included. I didn't check them out, I'm just sleazy in general.

Scrawny guy returns to work for a few minutes, then enters the lobby for something. He hears the TV and looks up to find the music video for "Brand New Girlfriend" by Steve Holy, a song and artist I had never heard of before today. He quickly says, "Oh, no way!" and stands mesmorized. Then he starts singing along and dancing, as if he doesn't know I'm right behind him. You know I'm all for song and dance, but not in front of a customer while working. Ah, who am I kidding; I'd totally do it. Rock on, Grease Monkey!

Finally, my car was ready. I'd like to point out that scrawny guy did not hold the door for me or check me out. I'm rather offended. That's sexism, brotha! Oh well, maybe next time.

As a parting note, I'd like to say that it's too damn hot. How hot is it? It's so hot that the outside air smells like Domino's Pizza. We have reached the temperature at which the world smells like a pizza oven. Curse you, Al Gore!