Dashed against the rocks of my life,
were my plans for my fabulous day off.
To preface this monstrously hideous day, let me say that two days ago, the brakes on my car started making this hideous grinding sound. I knew, in the deepest recesses of my heart, that my idealistic plans were doomed. I just didn't know how cruelly they'd be crushed.
This morning, after dropping Miss Peanut off at school, I called the car dealership and managed to get an appointment scheduled to get the brakes replaced. I figured they were pretty much shot, and held out little help for the rotors as well. Arriving there at 8:30 am, I relinquished the key and took the lovely dealership shuttle to a coffeehouse (Brew Ha Ha) a few miles away on Main Street in Newark.
For those of you that don't know Delaware intimately - and why should you, I ask? - Newark is the home of the University of Delaware. I attended for 6 non-consecutive years, earning two degrees (Bachelor of Arts and Masters of Arts), and did so paying my own tuition, thank you very much. More on that later.
I had anticipated the wait and had brought papers to grade: 66 French tests and 50ish French projects (party invitations - woo woo!). I had also brought my new book. You know, the one I'd planned on reading all day today?! Settling in with my work at 9 am with a Grande Mochaccino (yum!), I plowed steadfastly through projects and tests until 11:30, when my sandwich arrived: chicken salad with mesclun lettuce and tomato on a fresh, still-warm-from-the-oven whole-grain baguette. To borrow a phrase from the Sniffy One, it was fuckin' delish!
Anyway (thanks Piggy), after lunch, with a fresh mochaccino in hand (iced, this time, for variety's sake), I continued grading until I was done all 66 fucking tests. The good news: the class of rocket-scientists I have in Period 1 all did swimmingly, with a beautiful downwardly-sloping hill of a results curve. Periods 2 & 3, though, had Ws for their results graphs, with the right side of the W reaching up and up and up into the stratosphere. Period 3 did marginally better with period 2, though. Uh oh, tangent...
So, feeling righteous with my completed grading, I headed out for some well-earned shopping, having still not heard from the car dealership. I ducked into the teacher-supply store and checked out their extremely meager offerings in the French section. Apparently, the store feels that we are being overrun by Mexicans and has stocked mainly Spanish materials. Whatever.
After my stop there, I called the shuttle and hitched a ride back to the dealership where the car was finished and the bill ready for my inspection.
It read $966.00. For my international readers, that is approximately 548.70 pounds. Or, in the language of the World's Cheapest Man "a fucking lot! Jesus Christ, woman! You got hosed!" All in all, Camryn Malibu DuHadaway (yes, I named my car) needed new brakes, 2 new rotors, a new caliper for the one rotor, 2 new front tires, a four-wheel alignment, and a brake fluid flush. She drives like a dream now.
I did get home in time to pick up Miss Peanut and drop her off at my parents' house in time for the weekend fun-fest that is a sleepover at the Grenfell House. I also got to go out to dinner with the WCM (and a visit to Trader Joe's, and a quick trip to Borders for some more caffeine - I'm lit up tonight!).
My poor wallet is looking anorexic at the moment, and I never did get to start my book or have Chinese food.
Still, in the words of Miss Scarlett, "Tomorrow is another day."
To preface this monstrously hideous day, let me say that two days ago, the brakes on my car started making this hideous grinding sound. I knew, in the deepest recesses of my heart, that my idealistic plans were doomed. I just didn't know how cruelly they'd be crushed.
This morning, after dropping Miss Peanut off at school, I called the car dealership and managed to get an appointment scheduled to get the brakes replaced. I figured they were pretty much shot, and held out little help for the rotors as well. Arriving there at 8:30 am, I relinquished the key and took the lovely dealership shuttle to a coffeehouse (Brew Ha Ha) a few miles away on Main Street in Newark.
For those of you that don't know Delaware intimately - and why should you, I ask? - Newark is the home of the University of Delaware. I attended for 6 non-consecutive years, earning two degrees (Bachelor of Arts and Masters of Arts), and did so paying my own tuition, thank you very much. More on that later.
I had anticipated the wait and had brought papers to grade: 66 French tests and 50ish French projects (party invitations - woo woo!). I had also brought my new book. You know, the one I'd planned on reading all day today?! Settling in with my work at 9 am with a Grande Mochaccino (yum!), I plowed steadfastly through projects and tests until 11:30, when my sandwich arrived: chicken salad with mesclun lettuce and tomato on a fresh, still-warm-from-the-oven whole-grain baguette. To borrow a phrase from the Sniffy One, it was fuckin' delish!
Anyway (thanks Piggy), after lunch, with a fresh mochaccino in hand (iced, this time, for variety's sake), I continued grading until I was done all 66 fucking tests. The good news: the class of rocket-scientists I have in Period 1 all did swimmingly, with a beautiful downwardly-sloping hill of a results curve. Periods 2 & 3, though, had Ws for their results graphs, with the right side of the W reaching up and up and up into the stratosphere. Period 3 did marginally better with period 2, though. Uh oh, tangent...
So, feeling righteous with my completed grading, I headed out for some well-earned shopping, having still not heard from the car dealership. I ducked into the teacher-supply store and checked out their extremely meager offerings in the French section. Apparently, the store feels that we are being overrun by Mexicans and has stocked mainly Spanish materials. Whatever.
After my stop there, I called the shuttle and hitched a ride back to the dealership where the car was finished and the bill ready for my inspection.
It read $966.00. For my international readers, that is approximately 548.70 pounds. Or, in the language of the World's Cheapest Man "a fucking lot! Jesus Christ, woman! You got hosed!" All in all, Camryn Malibu DuHadaway (yes, I named my car) needed new brakes, 2 new rotors, a new caliper for the one rotor, 2 new front tires, a four-wheel alignment, and a brake fluid flush. She drives like a dream now.
I did get home in time to pick up Miss Peanut and drop her off at my parents' house in time for the weekend fun-fest that is a sleepover at the Grenfell House. I also got to go out to dinner with the WCM (and a visit to Trader Joe's, and a quick trip to Borders for some more caffeine - I'm lit up tonight!).
My poor wallet is looking anorexic at the moment, and I never did get to start my book or have Chinese food.
Still, in the words of Miss Scarlett, "Tomorrow is another day."
posted by Peevish McSnark at
10:35 PM
3 Comments:
Sounds reasonable for all that work to tell you the truth. You may have been fleeced, but $1000 is nothing to pay for your safety and peace of mind.
Still, it's abit of a shock when it comes like that though, isn't it?
By
Sniffy, At
5:39 AM
And so I said to the WCM. I hadn't had any major service done to the car in 40,000 miles, so she was due.
I still miss my planned pajama day, though.
By
Peevish McSnark, At
8:41 AM
Yikes. In Canadian dollars that a whole year's wage. That hurts.
By
pissoff, At
11:41 PM
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