I once saw a movie (or TV show; I can’t remember which) in which someone said something really clever about something or other.
Yes; my memory of it is exactly that clear.
In any case, the “something” that was said was a play on words using the old expression that starts off “the best laid plans…” that ended with a really clever twist about how you can’t always plan to get laid.
It was funny at the time, though apparently not quite memorable enough to fully imprint itself in my mind.
My own failure to properly recall how it was worded reminds me of that footage of Dubya trying to say “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,” but instead saying, “Fool me once, shame on you,” pausing, trying to remember how the rest of it goes, and finally summing it up with, “We can’t get fooled again.”
Personally, I think that’s an ironic sentiment coming from a man who fooled us twice (in 2000 and 2004), but all of that’s irrelevant in terms of this entry, which is actually about plans, and specifically how they can go astray (much like this entry started to).
So. The plan.
The plan was for Brian to pick me up and bring me with him to the airport, at which point he would catch his flight and go off in search of fun and jet-skiing in New Hampshire, and I would drive his truck home.
Mission accomplished.
Later, Kathleen would swing by on her way to work and we would swap vehicles.
Another item successfully checked off.
The next step in the plan involved me driving directly to Brian and Kathleen’s house after work on Friday, at which point Kathleen would drive me over to the dealership and I would pick up my car.
That’s where the plan began the whole “astray” thing.
On Friday afternoon I called the dealership to confirm that my car would be ready, and to find out how much it was going to cost me.
I hadn’t gotten a call back on Thursday, which I had assumed was a good sign. After all, he had given me the costs of the tires ($55 a piece), and had mentioned that he was hoping to get my rim for free under my warranty. So operating on the “no news is good news” theory, I assumed that he didn’t call to tell me how much the rim would cost because it would be covered and he therefore didn't need to call me and tell me.
Turns out I was right; there is actually a recall on my rims (which is no doubt related to the fact that one of my rims got bent in the first place), and so I’m getting four new rims (rather than just one) at no cost to me.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that the dealership was restricted to replacing the rims with a specific kind…which won’t arrive until Tuesday.
Fortunately Kathleen has been gracious enough to let me continue using her vehicle in the interim.
While I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, driving her Sportage around hasn’t exactly been the sort of thrill-ride the parking garage guys in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” enjoyed.
For one thing, I just don’t feel comfortable driving someone else’s vehicle. Nothing is where you expect it to be, and you don’t feel right about changing any sort of settings. After all, I don’t like it when people mess with the way I have my vehicle set up, so, in observance of Kant’s Categorical Imperative (look it up), I am reluctant to mess with the way Kathleen has hers set up.
Which leads us to the presets.
By “presets” I am referring to the preset stations on her in-dash XM Satellite radio.
To put it bluntly, they suck, and each one is shittier than the last. To make matters worse, there is no clearly marked “power” button, so it’s not easily possible to turn the thing off without taking time to familiarize myself with all of the controls, which, in the morning on my way to work, or in the evening when I get home and want nothing more than to just go to bed, isn’t an option.
Additional familiarization would be required to learn how to tune in something other than the presets.
So all I can do is turn the volume down and occasionally look in horror at the nightmarish litany of pop performers’ names as they scroll across the display. Names like “Alicia Keys,” “Usher,” and, (shudder) “Backstreet Boys.”
These performers, I think, will provide the soundtrack to my personal hell (the overcrowded one with all of the snakes).
Still, like I said, I really am grateful for the use of Kathleen’s vehicle to get me through the weekend, but I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t throw out some semi-comic complaints about the whole thing...
As is probably apparent from the fact that I’m posting an entry on a Saturday, today is a rather slow day at work
Still, I suppose that I should do something.
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