I had this meeting earlier today and I needed to look sharp for it. So, I worked my magic with the curling iron and liquid eye liner and was basically just killing it. Ya know, there are times when you just get it right, and today was one of those days. My outfit? Don’t get me started. Let’s just say there was a short dress involved. Let’s just say I got a spray tan last week and its still holding on for dear life. I’m parading these stems all over town like I’m some kind of Victoria’s Secret Angel. So, I leave my meeting and have to go to the Mini Cooper dealership (I know, I know, could I be any cuter?). I had gotten a notice in the mail that there was a recall of some kind for my particular model. The notice said that the defective whatever can cause the engine to catch on fire and/or explode and that it can happen even if the engine is turned off. Naturally, I was calling to make an appointment while still standing in front of my mailbox with the notice in my hand. The receptionist in the service department told me that they were so backed up from the recall, that I couldn’t bring my car in for at least three weeks. I was like, “Yeah no prob lady, I’ll just cruise around in a ticking time bomb until then and cross my fingers!!” What I actually said was, “Thank you, I’ll take it.”
So I walk into the service department, and we all know what they’re like. It’s a man’s world in there. All these greased up, overweight guys, with black under their fingernails and beer on their breath. So, I knew walking in with my short dress and my eye liner was going to be a lot for them. I made my entrance and waited for that moment of, oh lord a hot chick just walked in, but no one seemed to look up. I approached the main desk and the man behind it didn’t acknowledge me, so I said, “I have a service appointment”. He looked up out of obligation and said, “Give me your key.” I gave him my key and he scanned it for my information (Mini’s are super futuristic). Then his co-worker walked in from the back and I thought, he better keep his eyes to himself! Well, he did. He walked right past me. Did I mention I was wearing a heeled bootie? Very flattering. Then the original guy finished scanning my futuristic key and asked me for my birthday. I said “August twenty-third”, and then he said, “And the year? You’re what, thirty-one?” I squinted my eyes to see if he was trying to make some kind of joke. He was not. “I’m twenty-nine actually. The year is eighty-two.” I was no longer hiding my contempt for him. He clearly wasn’t aware that a casting director told me just two days ago that I could start saying I’m twenty-six. And it was even more clear that he was just trying to hurt me at this point.
Of course they were out of the mini loaners and I had to walk two blocks to a rental spot and drive out in a white Toyota Corolla (no offense to you peeps who are proud owners, blah blah blah). My day had started out so charmed and turned into me stomping down the sidewalk of Lankershim Blvd convinced that I look a year and a half older than I am and wondering which skin peel could help with that.
I’m aware that this post is not really relevant to a Single Girls Guide, but I guess I needed to vent it out. Let you see the vein thoughts that run through my little brain, and understand how connected I feel to Liz Lemon.