Lube. Jiffy Lube.

Yesterday I had to get my oil changed-- I was only 2,000 miles over-- and I decided I'd pay the extra $$ to go to Valvoline Instant Oil Change so I could just stay in my car because every girl knows how NOT fun it is getting the oil changed and sitting in that waiting room staring at nothing, but trying desperately to think of people you *need* to call, but then realizing even if you do call someone it's so LOUD in those waiting rooms and everyone will hear. So anyway, I had boot camp at 6:30 and by the time I got to Valvoline it was already 5:45 and the guy came walking up to my car to tell me it would be a 30 minute wait. Wahhh. I was confused considering I was only #2 in line, but he told me their computers were down nationwide, blah blah blah. I saw visions of oil funnels, dirty filters and dollar signs and momentarily spaced out as I do every other time mechanics start talking to me. I left and went to Jiffy Lube down the street, where the wait was only 5 minutes. But something happened there that left me feeling ugly, fat, and old.

There was this g.i.r.l. (collective sigh) in the waiting room-- the only other person in there besides me. She must have been about 17 because she was on her cell phone the entire time trying to decide where she should go to eat when she left. Who talks on the phone about that kind of stuff for 20+ minutes? Seventeen year olds, that's who. But she was nice... she didn't give off that bitch vibe that most girls you don't know do. You know the vibe. Yeah, that one. She didn't give it off... for long. I would soon come to despise her.

When her car was done, she got up and went to the counter. Now, she and I were both dressed in workout clothes, but her workout clothes were quite different than my workout clothes. While I was in faded yoga pants, an old Wittenberg tshirt and a mismatched fleece pull-over, she had on cut off sweats, bright white running shoes (that screamed "I go to the gym to look pretty), a black sports bra barely covered by her cut-off t-shirt. And when I say cut-off I don't mean the way guys cut the sleeves off... she made hers into a slutty little racerback so that we ALL could see her entire bra. I was momentarily pissed, but then I realized she looked a hell of a lot better than I did with my fleece and faded yoga pants as I sat clutching my Vera Bradley purse around my midsection. Of course ALLLLL the men working had to come inside to see her out and tell her three times to "have a nice day" to which she TOTALLY flirted back "THANKS!!!! *insert toothy grin* YOU TOO!!!" ... to evvvery single one of them. It was borderline obnoxious to the average frumpy onlooker. So the guys are practically drooling at this point, thinking of reasons to keep coming inside and hanging around the counter and I'm sitting in my plastic chair with my eyes in permanent-roll mode when I hear the manager offer her a free car wash token becuase they "got a little oil on her car" YEAH RIGHT. Whatever. Just then another guy comes walking in crumpling up the plastic seat protector, shower cap-esque steering wheel cover, and paper floor mat. If cartoon eyes existed in real life, his would have literally smacked into her boobs, ricocheted back and knocked the man on his back.

She finally left and got her darn car wash, and even thhough I was feeling about as ugly and old as dirt, I had a twinge of hope that maybe I, too, would get a free car wash. But no. And then? When I went to get inside my car? They had left all the plastic coverings and floor mat in my car for me to take care of. And I wanted to cry. I wanted to yell "I'm pretty too, you dirty mechanics!!" And then I wanted to hang all 35 yeards of plastic out the window as I drove away in a fury cackling. But then they would've thought I was fat, ugly, old, AND crazy so I just sat down on top of the plastic and left, crinkling the plastic with every breath.

Sigh.

I'm done with the oil changes.