Gayle Madwin (queerbychoice) wrote,
Gayle Madwin

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My Car Non-Repair Adventure

I just spent my entire Sunday, from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., at a Pep Boys Auto repair place, because my car requested medical attention. It was running just fine, but the "Check Engine Soon" light on the dashboard lit up yesterday, so like a good, responsible car owner, I decided I'd better "check engine soon." Finding car repair places that are open on Sundays isn't entirely easy, and finding ones that are open on Sundays that have the proper equipment to diagnose what the "Check Engine Soon" light means turns out to be even harder, so I ended up having to drive halfway across town. Then I sat in the waiting room for 8 hours while the mechanics attempted to figure out what was wrong. Final Verdict: Nothing whatsoever appears to actually be wrong, but the computer code claims that the fuel condensation system had at some point in the past been wrong, even though it isn't wrong anymore. Result: I pay them $90 for telling me this, they turn the warning light off, and I take my car back home with no actual repairs made. However, they tell me that if the light comes back on again within 90 days, they will then fix whatever's wrong with it for free.

Additional result: While in the waiting room, I read the entire novel All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, all the way from page 1 to page 296, and then I had two hours left over with nothing to do, so I walked across the street to a record store and bought the new Depeche Mode album, Playing the Angel, and then sat in the Pep Boys waiting room reading the lyrics and liner notes. I see they're letting Dave Gahan write songs all of a sudden. Why do I find myself suspecting that this is a ploy designed to make him feel more useful so he won't attempt suicide anymore? Oh well, I haven't listened to the album yet. And though as a fifteen- and sixteen-year old I was absolutely crazy about Martin Gore, as I've aged I've increasingly found many of his lyrics embarrassingly appallingly stupid, so Dave Gahan's could very easily be an improvement. But I probably shouldn't criticize Martin Gore too harshly; my ability to judge him fairly may well be severely impaired by the fact that I previously worshiped him, so now anything he does that's one speck less than godlike will inevitably disappoint me terribly.

All Quiet on the Western Front was okay, but definitely not even close to being my favorite war novel. I'd recommend Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun a million times more highly.
Tags: books
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