I wanted an oil change. And so I went to Muffler Man, the one on Lake Michigan Drive, where I got it changed last time, where they did a good job, and where a homeless guy sat down next to me until the Police made him leave. No homeless guys this time. It was 9:30 am, and I had a lot to do today. They told me it might be an hour, an hour I wanted to use. So I put my name in and left, planning to be back before the hour was up. I went to Aman Park, just down the street, where there are some beautiful wooded trails and a creek. There, I saw a curious sight: A squirrel, trapped in the crease of two branches in a sapling, hanging limp and lifeless. It may have fallen from a higher tree, and broken its neck or something. I wondered if it might be an omen. I think I wanted it to be an omen. I can’t remember ever having an omen before, and I figured such a weird thing might be an omen. I inspected it, prodded it with a stick, and left.
After romping around for about a half hour, I left and went back to see the Muffler Man. The guy behind the desk was chatting with some customers, so I grabbed a seat and waited. I kept my keys in my pocket. It was 10:15. More people flocked in – a few middle aged men, a high school kid in a yellow jacket who drove a Sable. I was happy I had gotten in before the others. I waited. Soon, they called the kid in the yellow jacket who drove the Sable. He paid and left. Probably in his Sable. By now, it was 11:00. Strange, I thought. Maybe he had put his name in when I was gone. Whatever. My keys were still in my pocket… as long as they were there, my car hadn’t been started yet. I waited more.
“I should leave,” I told myself. But I had waited all morning. I couldn’t leave now, that would render the whole wait worthless. I sat passively, though it was becoming obvious they had forgotten about me. This, despite the fact I was still sitting in their lobby. Thoughts swirled: “Shouldn’t have been so passive… should have said something right away. Get up. Say you have to go. You don’t need to stay here. Ask how long it’s going to be.” I got up and asked how long it was going to be. I saw my name on a piece of paper in the stack. The kid behind the counter – his mom had been the one who told me it would be an hour – told me that I was second in line. I sat down and waited more. It was 11:20. I thought again… “If 11:30 comes, and I’m still sitting here, I’m outta here.” 11:30 came and went. “That’s two hours. Two hours is too long. You should leave. I should leave. Why do I call myself “you?” Tell them you have to leave. You do have to leave.” I got up. “I have to get going,” I told the kid behind the counter. Mom was back now. “What’s your name?” she asked. “Jim,” I said, “Gamble.” My sheet wasn’t in the stack anymore. “Oh,” she said, “You came back and didn’t tell us.”
Oh, so this was my fault. I sat for an hour and a half in your lobby and confirmed that I was in line. Right, it’s my fault. I was pretty mad now. She told me they’d bump me up to next in line. I had spent the last hour thinking that’s just where I was. Nope. My business goes elsewhere, now. I’ll go to the place on Chicago Drive where I don’t just get an oil change, I get a stare, some intimidation, and increasingly bad news about my tie rods or my tension bearings or my brake shoes. Kid behind the counter gave my excuse: “He’s gotta go now, though.” And that was the last thing I heard, because I walked out, angry at them for forgetting me, angry at myself for being so passive and sitting there for so long, and angry at the world for never having any good songs on the radio.
I don’t know if the squirrel had anything to do with this.
