Tire is fixed. Douche Bag is still out there.

Today was the day that I got my tire fixed. I showed up and after a ridiculous amount of confusion wherein they thought they didn't have to fix my tire? Oh, no, the rim is just bent to shit, but that rubber tire is just fine. Isn't this what you do for a living? How do I get this when you don't? 

Anyway, I walked over to an Indian buffet for lunch and then proceeded to sit and wait for a stupid amount of time. I was reading Harry Potter on my Kindle because that's how I roll. But, mostly, I was people watching. Or, I should say, people listening. It always kind of fascinates me to sit and people watch in a place that everyone comes to. It's not like, say, and Indian Buffet. You can expect a certain kind of people there. Same with certain stores. But, everyone gets oil changes and buys tires. Well, almost everyone. You get the point.

So, there was a fire fighter that has gone through 30 cars in 23 years. It seemed very obvious to the man at the desk as to why he would go so through so many cars, but I was left baffled. Did he accidentally catch them all on fire? Is there some fireman's code that you only buy shitty cars that won't last long? Does anyone have any idea why it is obvious that a fire fighter would go through that many cars? 

There were also your run of the mill people like me, who needed some routine maintenance done. My favorite was the guy getting his oil changed on his lunch hour who was watching the The Real Housewives of the OC with great fascination. Why this was playing at a tire shop is beyond me. I don't judge.

The worst, though, was the guy who walked in in shorts (it is 37 degrees outside) and a T-shirt with the most obviously spray tanned legs I have ever seen in my entire life. He was frantically wandering around on his cell phone yelling at people and getting visibly agitated by every phone call he got. He then proceeded to try to show off to me with all of the after market things he was buying for his Mercedes. All I could think over and over was DOUCHE BAG. Yet, he kept on talking to me. I couldn't stop staring at his awkwardly orange legs and frosted tips. 

Then he proceeded to talk to the guy at the counter FOREVER about how small the rims he was buying were and how he wanted to get larger rims and blah blah blah. Then, when my car was done, he made some condescending remark about my "nice little Mazda." 

Suck it douche. You have spent more on your car then I have on my house. Who wins in life? I do!

I simply can't wait until I go back for my next oil change.