Pimped

I believe I used the words "bane of my existence" to explain my woes with not having a second working outlet for my cell phone in my car console.

I may not have used this exact phrase to you...but I did use it when I spoke to da guy.

Da guy turned out to be one of a relatively bored, 3-man group working at a stand-alone car parts store near my house. I popped in there with Connor (12), as we had some time to kill before going to the dentist. I mean, doesn't everyone pop into their local auto parts store on teeth-cleaning day? Isn't it some sort of mandatory tradition? Like sending a thank you card for a birthday gift, or bringing something when invited to someone's house for dinner?

I walked in and basically went into "clueless mode" ("Ep-ep-ep...don't even THINK about remarking here. There's nothing you can say that I haven't already thought")... and as I'm talking, da guys are surreptitiously sneaking glances at each other. I can tell they're sending each other the guy-code message for "Okay. Who's gonna deal with this one?" Since they're getting absolutly no useful information from me in the store, one of them simply heads towards the door and walks towards the only new car in the lot.

I go on to explain about shoving the pennies into the outlet and about the fireworks display I received when my metal screwdriver came in contact with the "hot" surface. (read: she neglected to cut the power before attempting to mix metal with a live power source. Basic electricity 1-0-1...I was physically present for that class, but was having a heated debate with IV on the ramifications versus the benefits of buying a lamp because it matches your favorite pair of shoes, so I may have missed this part.)

Da guy just lets me talk...and I'm impressed to note that he's already located the fuse box in my car and is looking for the correct location of the now-dead one. He waits for me to take a breath before telling me that his fuses come in a pack of five.

K: (Confused) "Five...of the same one? Or five different ones? And why five? Why not one...or three? Three would make more sense to me. Of course, one would be even better."

He opened his mouth to respond but obviously thought better of it.

Without a word, he walked back into the store. Connor and I glanced at each other...was he coming back? Was he done with me? Had I gone too far?

When he emerged a moment later, Connor thought to mention that there were "probably a thousand or so" people waiting to hear how this story played out.

Connor: "Right, Mom?"

Kathryn: "What? Who? What are you talking about?"

Connor: (Sighs. Exasperated.) "Your readers?"

Kathryn: "Oh, riiiiight! Yup. They're just chomping at the bit to see how this turns out."

Da guy finishes installing the new fuse. Hands me the old one, pointing out that the connection between those teeny-weeny metal pieces inside is broken....identifying it as a blown fuse.

Then, he told us there was no charge....and he smiled.

I asked if he was sure (he was) and we thanked him profusely and we headed on our way.

And THAT, my friends...is how I wound up pimping you out to get my new free fuse. I hope you're not feeling too cheap right now. Remember: it's all for the story...'cause I've got nothin' without the story.

Now, go see if you can rustle me up some rock salt for the driveway. Ya done good.