Wal-Mart Fantasy

The other day, my car being much abused by the constant back and forth road wear I subject it to when I hurtle the seventyfive miles north and south every other day, I decided that - because it had been a couple of months overdue for an oil change - I should at least scrape up the few dollars it takes to have someone else do it. Normally, I take my car to Wal-Mart to have this sort of thing done primarily because I don't want to learn how to do it myself, but also because I think it would cost less to have them throw their wrenches around the underside of my rusting 89' Honda disaster. So, although I was in Big City, I took my car to the city Wal-Mart rather than the country Wal-Mart that I'm used to. There are tremendous differences between the two, one being that in the city there is almost always a police car parked out front, with a policeman inside likely arresting a shoplifter.

I've always thought, that in another life - one without college - I might have worked in the oil changing department at Wal-Mart. Sure, I would have probably gotten cancer later in life because of the constant contact with the oil and grime that would have been inevitably caked onto my hands. And okay, I would have probably hated the long hours, the tough physical work, the grouchy customers who "don't get it," but I still think that I could have done a good job. One of the things that always seems to happen in these car situations, regardless of which store I'm at - it can even be a gas station - men my age and younger will want to talk to me about the intricacies of cars. ("Hey, do you know if that is a Z-80X, V8, with a hemi?") For some reason, I think I really look like a guy who knows a lot about cars. While most guys I knew were reading "auto-trader," a magazine devoted to selling cars, I was honing my inner nerd by playing Dungeons & Dragons in the library with fellow nerds. (I'm pleased to say that I've since given up D&D. My nerdliness is waning.)

On a completely different note, I've gotten my final financial aid award letter from my grad. school of choice, and while I'm going to fall further into the infernal crevice of debt, it will cover all my current expenses. I was really worried that I wouldn't get anything and would have to rely on the teaching assistantship to pay for it all. I could have pulled it off, but my hair might have also fallen out due to poor nutrition caused by a month long consumption of nothing but noodle Ramen. Which, of course, would have been uncool - even for a nerd.