Photo: ABC News
I have an early appointment at the car servicing center on Aurora Ave. I arrive, and the check-in lane is full. Employees hastily pull cars into the garage lifts. Even with an appointment, I will wait two hours for an oil change.
The waiting area was renovated, with bamboo sticking out of white rocks, nature-scene wallpaper, chipboard cabinets with wood grain laminate, and white Formica. Waiting areas seem the same whether you get a colonoscopy, root canal, or a lube job.
A service employee obsequiously reports that an ordered part is still in Utah. She adds, “Something with the weather, I think.”
The customer, a loquacious older man, is not upset and seems to love the conversation about auto parts, distribution centers, shipping issues, and far-flung industrial towns.
A man with EarPods takes meetings on his phone. There is an issue with a sent email, a signature from six months ago, lost panels, and a scurrying staff. He paces. “I’ll be in as soon as I resolve this car thing.” As writer Roni Horn says, “Mass communication erases or destroys boundaries.”
A service employee tells another customer they “still have eight prepaid oil changes that expire in 2025.”
The customer says, “Sick.”
“Yeah, try to get some driving in to take advantage of those oil changes.”
My car doesn’t need tires until next year, but oil leaks from the engine. Corrosion around the spark plugs needs cleaning (he recommends steel wool and elbow grease), and a dirty air filter needs replacing. He dropped the black corrugated square on the white Formica like a black lung on an autopsy table.
Later, I got conspiratorial narratives from friends that the filter was a prop to swindle me out of $100—the gutter ball memetics of half-truths and lies.
A woman answers her phone, “Still waiting.”
The older man whose part was not delivered is on hold with customer service in Salt Lake City. He asked for the manager. His wait is approximately thirteen minutes.
Muzak on speaker.
