Tire-related Interlude
My right rear tire — by which I mean my car's right rear tire — has been going flat. Turns out there's a screw in it. So I sign the estimate and go off to Borders to amuse myself for thirty-five minutes while they plug the hole.
When I return to Just Tires, there's this elderly gentleman and his wife paying for a new set of tires at the counter.
"I love this place," the elderly gentleman says. "You're guys are always smiling."
"It's in our contract," says the guy that's helping him, not unkindly. The employees of Just Tires don't seem particularly smiley to me, but then again, they're not surly, either.
"These tires... they'll last a few years, right?" says the elderly gentleman. "We're eighty-one, so we're not going to be using them for all that long, but still."
And then he whips out a harmonica. I shit you not. He plays an extended bit of Bach, and then does a cheerful showtune. The latter I could hum for you, and you'd recognize it, but I can't remember what it's called.
Then the old guy asks the guy that's helping him, "What'll that knock off the price?"
Very, very surreal.
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