rss feed | youtube | links | the burning log
Monday, August 06, 2007
I'm in Les Schwab country
I'm currently sitting in the waiting room at the Les Schwab Tire Center on NW 19th. I've been here for going on two hours enjoying the 56K wonderment offered by MetroFi. My rear brakes have been squeaking but, according to the staff, there's 40% wear left on them. Now I'm waiting for the tires to be rotated. Mondays are busy down here.
Let me tell you something: if you spend a morning in a Les Schwab you're bound to meet some interesting people. OK, not really but here's a live blow-by-blow:
10:12 AM: A guy in orange overalls is waiting to have a flat fixed on his truck. He's upset that there's nothing left in the popcorn machine. He settles for coffee instead.
10:25 AM: A man who looks like my landlord is eating potato chips to the right of me. Isn't it too early in the morning for Doritos? He's laughing at something he's watching on ESPN.
11:05 AM: Finally some action. I'm in the middle of a phone call and a woman in her mid-20s, dressed in a pair of super-tight bright pink shorts, is shrieking. "MOM, THE TIRE IS ABOUT TO BLOW-OUT! HOW AM I GOING TO PAY FOR THIS?!!" Tears are running down her face. She has a tattoo on her right shoulder. After asking someone behind the counter for a phone book, she's flung it onto a table. I can tell the staff are getting ready to ask her to leave. Outside, her friend and their two boyfriends, who are dressed like extras from 8 Mile, are rolling their eyes.
11:15 AM: Some additional background info has become available. Hot Pink Shorts Lady and her friend are lingering around the coffee machine. They're on a vacation to who knows where and I get the feeling they don't care much for NW Portland, mostly because they've resolved to never leave Southern California again. "Road trips are totally not worth it," Hot Pants has just declared. Her mascara is smeared. Her cell phone tone is a clip from a hip-hop song I can't identify. Maybe Fergie? I'm thinking Fergie.
11:20 AM: Hot Pink has decided to pay for her damaged tire "her own damn self." She's just flung a tiny green purse onto the counter with a resounding thud. Her boyfriend is laughing outside.
11:45 AM: My car's done. Hot Pink and her friends are gone. I wonder what they'll tell friends and family back home about Portland. I should have made the effort to see what kind of car they're driving.