iOFF: The Good Samaritan
I feel as though I may have led you, dear reader, astray through my previous posts regarding an esteemed member of my family. You see, it is not, as you may believe, that iOFF is "evil," or even, for that matter, ill-tempered. In fact, the poor fellow is better described as a hapless fool with a heart of gold; It is just that the hapless part is fairly noticeable. Really noticeable.
At the moment, the old chap is looking somewhat hungover. The briny cesspool he frequents (I-94) has built up a nice caked-on protective layer of salt and grime on his shiny surface, neatly obscuring any scratches/scrapes that may have been incurred on a certain street corner in a certain city that may rhyme with "icago." Following the incredible deep freeze the 'Polis just endured (-13 at my apt), the roadways have dried appreciably and are no longer ishing windshields at a preposterous rate. Seeking to clear the fog and nurse a little life back into the ol' boy, I pulled into the BP station near work to "borrow" a good windshield washing before trekking home.
After performing my trademark fly- up- and- remove- keys/kill- engine- before- coming- to- a- complete- stop maneuver, I was approached by a friendly looking gentleman who inquired "Blwahwealeia liehe aluwle usxle?," to which I responded: "Umm... awhaaa?"
The conversation continued:
-"Blwahwealeia liehe aluwle usxle?" *feverish gesturing towards car with hood up*
-"Oh... you need a jump? No problem!"
-"Clihena hahwnee leee?" *clenching, unclenching fists*
-"Jumper cables? Yeah, sure I've got a pair, right here!"
-"Shloah ahe ahaela!"
-"Yeah... just lemme pull around"
*Rapid, near reckless pull-around*
-"Lessee... now I just have to figure out how to open this hood..."
So the ol' bean's lid has always been a little difficult to pry up. Earlier this year, when it was freezing cold and drizzling rain, snow, ice, salt, and dirt from the sky, I pulled iOFF over at the very same BP location to check his windshield washer fluid level and top off the gas tank. After pulling the hood release, I jockeyed the pump, paid, and took off. It wasn't until the sleet started to really come down and I was cruising at 70 mph that I noticed the hood was flapping wildly in an attempt to liberate itself from its bindings. Realizing my mistake, I pulled off on some road, tried desperately to figure out how to open the hood... failed... and finally just mashed down on it as hard as I could so I could jump back in and slam on the gas to avoid getting rear-ended. It isn't that I don't enjoy tinkering with cars. -Anyone who ever rode with me in the Passat knows that I was 96% accurate on every diagnosis I ever gave for that beast... I even washed the engine every time I washed the car.- It's just that I don't like tinkering with this car. Hapless.
Why did I inject that story? Because I wanted to.
Anyway, I popped up the hood and wondered aloud: "Now... this thing has an electric starter soo... it should have a battery... somewhere..." Not that you care, but the battery on an iOFF looks nothing like a typical car battery: Interesting to note.
So his car started up on the first try. The man emerged from his car saying "Thank you." and, while shaking my hand "Bhielka whona 'Don.'"
-"My name's Nips... good to meet you."
I have no idea was coming out of his mouth besides "Thank you," and "Don," but it certainly was unique from both English and Spanish. He gave me a huge grin as he drove away and I could feel a little extra pride gleaming from iOFF's tarnished exterior.
The gentleman probably thought that he offered me no compensation, but I accepted his karmic token and immediately redeemed it by flying at 80 mph the whole way home, assured that no policeman could counter its power.
The iOFF: Always willing to lend a completely incompetant, malformed, slapstick, and unlucky hand.
At the moment, the old chap is looking somewhat hungover. The briny cesspool he frequents (I-94) has built up a nice caked-on protective layer of salt and grime on his shiny surface, neatly obscuring any scratches/scrapes that may have been incurred on a certain street corner in a certain city that may rhyme with "icago." Following the incredible deep freeze the 'Polis just endured (-13 at my apt), the roadways have dried appreciably and are no longer ishing windshields at a preposterous rate. Seeking to clear the fog and nurse a little life back into the ol' boy, I pulled into the BP station near work to "borrow" a good windshield washing before trekking home.
After performing my trademark fly- up- and- remove- keys/kill- engine- before- coming- to- a- complete- stop maneuver, I was approached by a friendly looking gentleman who inquired "Blwahwealeia liehe aluwle usxle?," to which I responded: "Umm... awhaaa?"
The conversation continued:
-"Blwahwealeia liehe aluwle usxle?" *feverish gesturing towards car with hood up*
-"Oh... you need a jump? No problem!"
-"Clihena hahwnee leee?" *clenching, unclenching fists*
-"Jumper cables? Yeah, sure I've got a pair, right here!"
-"Shloah ahe ahaela!"
-"Yeah... just lemme pull around"
*Rapid, near reckless pull-around*
-"Lessee... now I just have to figure out how to open this hood..."
So the ol' bean's lid has always been a little difficult to pry up. Earlier this year, when it was freezing cold and drizzling rain, snow, ice, salt, and dirt from the sky, I pulled iOFF over at the very same BP location to check his windshield washer fluid level and top off the gas tank. After pulling the hood release, I jockeyed the pump, paid, and took off. It wasn't until the sleet started to really come down and I was cruising at 70 mph that I noticed the hood was flapping wildly in an attempt to liberate itself from its bindings. Realizing my mistake, I pulled off on some road, tried desperately to figure out how to open the hood... failed... and finally just mashed down on it as hard as I could so I could jump back in and slam on the gas to avoid getting rear-ended. It isn't that I don't enjoy tinkering with cars. -Anyone who ever rode with me in the Passat knows that I was 96% accurate on every diagnosis I ever gave for that beast... I even washed the engine every time I washed the car.- It's just that I don't like tinkering with this car. Hapless.
Why did I inject that story? Because I wanted to.
Anyway, I popped up the hood and wondered aloud: "Now... this thing has an electric starter soo... it should have a battery... somewhere..." Not that you care, but the battery on an iOFF looks nothing like a typical car battery: Interesting to note.
So his car started up on the first try. The man emerged from his car saying "Thank you." and, while shaking my hand "Bhielka whona 'Don.'"
-"My name's Nips... good to meet you."
I have no idea was coming out of his mouth besides "Thank you," and "Don," but it certainly was unique from both English and Spanish. He gave me a huge grin as he drove away and I could feel a little extra pride gleaming from iOFF's tarnished exterior.
The gentleman probably thought that he offered me no compensation, but I accepted his karmic token and immediately redeemed it by flying at 80 mph the whole way home, assured that no policeman could counter its power.
The iOFF: Always willing to lend a completely incompetant, malformed, slapstick, and unlucky hand.
The iOff may be a sad little fellow, but he has a heart of gold. Useless, useless gold.
Posted by
Lizett! |
6:28 PM
Robert:
Your car is somewhat comparable to an Asian. Though they serve some sort of good purpose in the world, it is not known what their actual purpose is. It is a little more clear with a woman though: they just belong in the kitchen making pies. Make me a pie, biatch.
Posted by
Anonymous |
7:51 PM