Injustice

You think I'm referring to the fact that I completely skipped the entire month of July? Ha! No, no, no...um, please forgive me for that. But what I am actually referring to is a couple of instances that have recently left me a bit perturbed, peeved, pi.........you see where I'm going with this.


Now let me preface this by saying I have never particularly considered myself a feminist by any stretch, however I do appreciate my independence and the fact I can vote, work, buy things, etc. I hesitate in saying "own" as in "own my own home" or "own my own car" because at this point, let's be honest the only way I could end that phrase would be to say "own my own...socks." Not nearly as impressive, anyway I digress. I know there are women out there that own things much more substantial than socks, I'm just not quite there yet.


Ok, got distracted, back to the original point.


Instance #1


I was under the impression that men had gotten over the "women aren't as good as we are" thing, and while the majority are, I ran into 2 in particular that have not quite turned that corner. The first instance happened when I was getting my car serviced for the very first time. I explained that I had a little bit of trouble with the brakes and that I had a mysterious squeak that tended to not only happen when I was stopping but when I accelerated as well. All was good when I left my car. I went to pick it up the next day with no trouble, except that, according to my service representative (he who shall not be named, but we will call him Maury) said that they tried and tried and tried to find the squeak and **surprise** it couldn't be found.


Is this some kind of conspiracy by all cars? Performance anxiety? Because I feel like this happens to everyone.


Anyway, Maury offered to let me go take a little ride around with the service technician, not to be confused with the service representative. The service technician, a huge fan of BMX and not of Saved by the Bell because I highly doubt he was born in time to know what that is, told me to circle the block to see if I could "make it do it."


Goodie.


So we take off and I launch into constant meaningless chatter because it's what I tend to do in awkward situations all the while knowing that my car is not going to cooperate and make the annoyingly squeakiness that grates on my nerves. So amidst my nervous chatter, technician boy decides to speak.


"I told the Maury that I couldn't find the squeak and I drove and drove and drove it around and couldn't make it do it. So we thought it might work for you," he said.


"Oh yeah, well just because I'm trying to make it squeak probably means it won't," I say trying not to look as stupid as I feel.


He THEN says what I still can't wrap my head around..."Yeah well Maury said that since I couldn't make it do it the first go 'round, that maybe I should go and try and drive it like a girl....."


Homeboy continues on like he hasn't just shocked me into oblivion. He caught on though when he saw my gaping open mouth and my dagger-shooting eyes.


"What does THAT mean?" I ask.


"uh....wellll...uhhhhh I guess it means slow to start and quick to stop."


Yeah -- we didn't talk much after that. And hey Maury, my car still squeaks.


Instance #2


The second instance happened in the clubhouse after playing a round of golf at Callaway Gardens. I was vacationing with boyfriend's fam and we'd been enjoying the most beautiful day and fantastic round of golf. But needless to say at the end of the round, we were HUN-gry. The group behind us came into the clubhouse shortly after we did...unfortunately. Despite the fact that we suspect they might have stolen one of boyfriend's clubs (that's another story for another time) these guys were just beyond obnoxious in every sense of the word. They were probably in their 50s-60s and each of them oozed their own unique brand of disrespect.


On this particular day, the World Cup Finals were on...only one of the most exciting events in the world during the year, much less on that day. Well these guys, without any reverence for those around them, started belligerently demanding that the TVs be changed to another sporting event.


Even after the rest of us expressed interest in the World Cup Game, they still didn't get the hint. They flagged down their sweet sweet 20-something waitress who had more patience than Ghandi and demanded that she change the TV. She responded politely saying that it was very difficult to change the TVs and that they were usually meant to stay on the predetermined channels.


What was this HoBos response?


"Oh that's ok, honey, you're a blonde."


Whoa.


Back up.


I thought boyfriend's mom and I were going to come out of our chair's and give him a swift tongue-lashing. We didn't. But we came thiisss close. I did shoot daggers at him as well though.


Somehow this sweet waitress kept her composure and professionally just smirked and said, "well I'm not a natural blonde anyway."


I wouldn't have had that kind of patience. Not one bit. My response might've been something more like "At least I can change my hair color but you can't change the fact that you're a dumba--"...oh nevermind :-).


That is all for now - but I plan to be back soon