Hand. To. God.

I spent some time at Discount Tire this morning getting, duh, my tires taken care of. The rear tire on the driver's side had been leaking for Goddess knows how long and was speeding up its losing-air process. To add to the fun, I needed to have my now-spare fixed due to the monster-of-Frankenstein-sized screw/bolt that had been plunged into its nethers (hee) at some point a couple weeks ago, resulting in a sudden flat tire at the post office.

Allegedly, neither tire could be repaired. Of course. I selected the cheapest replacements at $52 each and was upsold to $57 each "for a much better tire." Sure, $5 makes all the difference. Heck, I'm just $5 away from buying that McMansion I've always wanted! I was anticipating a total around $114, forgetting about Extra Special Fees, Taxes, and Assorted State-Mandated Bullshit That Always Sounds Made Up. The total ended up being almost $160. I'm very glad I'm a position to afford it but all I could hear were the screams in my head as a portion of my remaining stockpile of unemployment funds whooshed out the door. Sigh.

It would have been nice, at some point, if the guy at the counter would have acknowledged that I was visibly irritated. In a manner of five minutes, I got sucker punched with not-great news, worse news, a sales pitch (Slimy!), and the final blow: a wait of up to 80 minutes. I felt like I was starring in one of those needless-to-say terrible employee training videos where the customer is communicating DIE NOW RETAIL WHORE with telling body language and the clerk just keeps typing on a keyboard, oblivious. The frame freezes, the cheesy, porn-ish music* begins to play, and a newscaster's doppelganger walks onto the set to talk about the best way to service a customer**.

* I, of course, have never watched porn. NEV-AR. Hmm-mm. Nope.

**Heh. Couldn't help it.

I paid the money, took a seat in the waiting room, and proceeded to stare at my phone while I seethed. Moments later, an older woman sat down across from me and proceeded to loudly tell everyone waiting with us that she had a desperate craving for chitlins.

I've never had them so I don't truly know if I'd like them but I'd like to say the following in my best Soylent Green voice: CHITTLINS ARE PEOPLE INTESTINES! WE'VE GOT TO STOP THEM SOMEHOW!

That revelation was enough, but there was more. So... much... more.

She ranted about her lazy, adult-aged children who apparently expected her to cook Thanksgiving dinner. I was sort of zoning in and out, but there was something something about sending them to the store for food and how they protested. All I know for certain is that the woman and her husband went to a local cafeteria, apparently after telling the kids to screw off, and that the restaurant disappointingly serves Stove Top stuffing. Surely this woman didn't expect a quality meal, holidays notwithstanding, from a place where you heft your own tray.

Somehow Thanksgiving dinner woes became a discussion of where she prefers to shop after she witnessed a domestic violence assault at Traders' Square, the mall down the street from the tire place. TS has been a breeding ground for the city's thuggish ruggish and was nicknamed, a looooong time ago, Traders' Scare. One might think that would be a hint. Then again, one might ignore said hints because one is TOO BUSY TALKING JESUS CHRIST LADY TAKE A BREATH.

We found out that her medical insurance is incredibly expensive. I've got no segueing clue about that one.

Then we found out someone's car needs a fuel pump and fuel filter. I actually felt for her because I've had at least two cars need the same things and that's a costly repair. I still wanted her to shut up though. Especially when she looped back around to her desire for chitlins.

Eventually, her name was called by one of the employees (Radial Representative? Tire Technician? Wheely Wunderkind?) and she left, but not before she got on the phone and talked to her friend for several minutes. See also: Decorum, Complete Lack Thereof.

Once she was gone, I realized the stereo was playing nonstop Christmas music. I'm not a huge holiday music fan. I have a few favorites but have no problem forgoing the radio, its incessant commercials, and nauseating, banter-riffic DJs in favor of continually listening to CDs in the car. I do have to confess, though, that I had myself a little butt wiggle when "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" came on. The song used to irritate the shit out of me but I also had to listen to it every day, multiple times a day, when I worked in retail. (Nothing like company-mandated rules that can get a person written up should they go ignored.) I don't know how many times I heard the song, but one day, clearly insane, I burst into dance behind the cash register. It was just too much to resist, for the millionth time, Brenda Lee inviting the world to be jolly and DECK! the halls with boughs of ho-ooo-ooo-lll-lly.

Hey, if you can't beat them, bust a move with them.