Killing Time

So, I’m sitting in a Sunoco station on Central Avenue, bored out of my mind. This is what happens when you’re dealing with 11-year old Volkswagens.

I came down this morning to have the headlights checked out because they seem awfully dim to me. Apparently, the problem there resides with my 44-year old eyes. Fine.

While here, however, our friendly mechanic – who I think is financing his new boat off this VW – noticed that the car’s inspection expired in January. Easy enough.

But, it never is. While on the lift, he pointed out that the exhaust is about ready to fall off (not a surprise, considering the car sounds like a diesel truck) and, more importantly, it needs needs rear brake pads. It’s an easy and fast fix. Or it will be, once the parts arrive.

Because Murphy’s Law is always in effect, our mechanic doesn’t have the pads in stock. His supplier is right down the road though, and the parts should be here in 20 minutes. That was almost an hour ago.

I’ve surfed the web, checked my email and Twitter, taken some pictures of rusted out old cars, and wandered around the strip mall next door. Meanwhile, the car remains on the lift, waiting for new brake pads to arrive.

I’m bored, but I’m not going anywhere without wheels. Or brakes.

Suffice it to say, I miss online poker at times like these.