After All… I’m Sure Dr. Phil Already Has a Blog.

About eight years ago, some smart person somewhere decided to send a little scraggly-looking elementary student equipped with a pair of those terrible and ominous puppy-dog eyes to my doorstep to hock one of those stupid $20 coupon books that nobody ever uses.

Well… nobody except that person who really really wants to save that ten cents off of his burrito platter at the local texmex place, of course.

I positively loathe those coupon books. I loathe the people who thought up the idea of those coupon books. I loathe the mothers of the people who thought up the idea of those coupon books, even.

But I’m a total sucker for the terrible and ominous puppy-dog eyes, so I always find myself  forking out the twenty bucks like a good ol’ schmuck and promptly sending it along to its well-deserved fate amongst the other forgotten treasures that live deep within my kitchen junk drawer.

This particular loathsome coupon book, the one that was hocked by a little scraggly-looking elementary student equipped with a pair of those terrible and ominous puppy-dog eyes on my doorstep eight years ago (not to be confused with the one that was hocked by a little scraggly-looking elementary student equipped with a pair of those terrible and ominous puppy-dog eyes on my doorstep five years ago), just so happened to have a nifty little coupon for a free oil change at a local mechanic.

Free. Oil. Change.

Yeah. Eat That, Mr. Burrito Hut.

With a little bit of “Look at me, I’m so charitable that they gave me free oil change certificates” flair, I handed the jumpsuit-clad dude, who smelled a little like onions and a lot like sweaty ape, the keys to my car.

“You want us to do a [insert random number here]-point inspection? We got a special,” he said, as he stared at my chest.

“Ummm…sure,” I said, as I contemplated how far down I’d actually have to pull my neckline in order to get some free tires. Quickly coming to the conclusion that it would need to be much farther that I was willing to go, I plopped myself on one of those sticky orange chairs to wait.

Six or seventy magazines courtesy of 1984 later:

“Okay, miss, let’s see now… you’ve got a something or another that needs to be replaced, a thingamagig that’s about to go out, a doodat and a dimwat that are fried, and a completely missing whatchmacallit. And how long has your horn been busted?”

Thinking back over the two years that I had had the car and trying in vain to remember the last time I used the horn, I said the first thing that came to mind, “My horn’s busted?”

“Yes, ma’am, it sure is.”

Suddenly, I realized that I owed the coupon book people, their mothers, the scraggly kid whore, and that breast-oggling mechanic a serious debt of gratitude for helping me to recognize a very important aspect of myself that I had never noticed until that very moment:

I flip people off far too often.

I also use the phrase “Ever heard of a blinker, pignut??” more than is possibly healthy.

And you know what? Come next month, I will have had that car for ten years…

The horn’s still busted, of course.

Now I’m just trying to decide if this was a blog post about the joys and sorrows of learning unexpected things about oneself in the most random moments of life, or if I just wanted an opportunity to type the word pignut.


Something tells me that it’s the pignut, though.

January 3, 2009
Categories: All or Nothing, Daily, Only Judith


1.©2009 by Courtney Hebert as Judith Shakespeare.
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