Final Days

There’s no turning back now. I’m on the website and I haven’t even moved in yet.

On my to-do list this week included getting an oil change at Jiffy Lube. Let me tell you about my experience. I had to laugh.

I’m sitting in the waiting room. There are 7 chairs. There are 4 people. I was the last to arrive. You know it’s kind of a social norm to leave a seat between you and the next person? Apparently I was the only one that knew this.

In the strangest configuration, I wind up sitting next to a very tall, very muscular man. On my left is a girl about my age with a tattoo on her wrist and shorts 8 sizes too big. In front of me is a young male teenager with a stained undershirt and shorts just barely hanging onto his thighs. On the right is a punky kind of kid with gory tattoos of decapitated  people all over his legs.

The teenager in his undershirt who, stereotypically speaking, looked like he belonged in the city, was on his phone. I didn’t mean to be nosy, but in cramped quarters, I couldn’t help it. He was arguing with someone about how they got him a small mocha when he really asked for a large. A LARGE! He was so very angry.  Jenna, don’t judge a book by the cover.

Lesson learned.

The very tall man next to me asked me to save his seat while he went to get something he forgot in his car. I nodded. I think we both understood he didn’t want to sit next to the mocha guy. He returned with a belt. Not just any belt. He was a cop. He had a gun, taser, cuffs, pepper spray, and about 6 other things in those neat and tidy compartments. He wore it over his shoulder like a purse. The gun was almost in my armpit. Weird.

Oh and now the story of the tattoos. Tattoo girl was so excited to start a conversation with Tattoo boy in front of everyone. The were sitting as far away as they could get in that room, by the way.

Tattoo girl: Oh dude! I love your tats!

Tattoo boy: Thanks, yours are alright. Where do you get yours done?

Tattoo girl: Oh man, I have wings on my back! Wanna see? Without waiting for an objection, she pulls up the back of her shirt up to her neck in the middle of the waiting room and shows off her wings.

Tattoo boy: Oh cool. Where do you get them done?

Tattoo girl: My sister does them. She has her own needle. I’m getting my own kit next week. I think I’m going to start doing my own.

Tattoo boy: Clearly regretting speaking to her. Oh. Good Luck with that.

Meanwhile the cop and I were crawling in our skin, in a waiting room where the AC was broken and leather chiars may not have been the best choice.

He looked at me just as they called his name to pay for his car. He was definitely telling me to stay strong for another 15 minutes before my car was ready. I’m so angry he got out first. I felt like I was on a reality TV show.

I’m going to miss Baltimore.