For days I’ve been calling him The Mexican Mechanic Who Makes House Calls, even after I found out his real name is Orlando. He showed up three hours late, but I was warned by my roommate to expect him to arrive on European Time.
When he finally got here, the first thing I noticed is that he was way younger than the short, balding 40-ish guy I expected him to be. The second thing I noticed was that he was kinda hot, and I instantly regretted my choice of footwear – socks with rubber sandals. I’m sure he noticed. I’m sure he was thinking, “God, she’d be so hot if she didn’t have feet like my grandma.” I know how much guys care about those things.
He was quick under the hood – not something I’m usually happy about – and cheap at $20 for the initial checkup. The diagnosis, however, was grim. Unless I want to go rooting through a junkyard, or bike all over town looking for a used parts store that stocks distributors for antique piece-of-shit cars, I’m out $225 for a new one.
Ouch. That's a pain in the purse, especially on top of the $85 bike tuneup and $100 pair of Nikes I shelled out for this weekend. And since there's no way I'm bumming a ride for every 8.5-mile daily commute, both will be seeing a lot of overtime. Seventeen miles a day, five days a week worth of overtime. That's six hours a week of bumping along in the hot Florida sunshine on a rubber seat the side of a Speedo.
Which brings me to yet a whole other level of ouch.
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1 comment:
You sound like a hottie who needs a "tune up" herself.
Call me babe.
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