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Meet the Columnist

Columnist, Sheila Moss, is humor writer from  Tennessee. She writes  a weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny things that happen to everyone.

   She has written for  the Daily News of Kingsport,   Griffin Journal, Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton Advocate,  and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News Journal. She has been published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks at Guidepost Books.  Her articles have appeared in numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.

    She is a former board member and past  Editor of  the Columnists.com, website of  the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, the oldest and largest professional organization for columnists. She is the Web Editor of Southern
Humorists.com
  and  a founder of the Southern Humorists writers' organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com

    To carry her weekly column in your newspaper, or to republish an article, please contact her. It's that easy. 

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A Good Car....
   

A Good Car

I have a pretty good car, meaning it does not have much mechanical trouble. But even first-rate cars need the oil changed, the fluids checked, the tire pressures equalized, and the brakes checked for wear. I think that is called "routine maintenance" in mechanical language.

So, I called the other day and made an appointment to take it in for service. When it comes to cars, I seemed to be blessed with an uncanny ability to have things go amiss. As usual, disaster was but a day away, only I did not know this yet. Naively, I dropped off my car at the dealership in the morning thinking I would give them the whole day to work on it and I would pick it up on my way home.

At noon I received a call at the office: "I just wanted to let you know that we are running behind schedule," said the service person.

I threw the telephone across the room! "No, not again!" I groaned.

Thatís what I wanted to do at any rate. What I actually did was say, "Okay, thank you for calling". I figured they still had five hours and surely that was enough time for routine maintenance.

At 3 p.m., I received another call. "I donít think we can get to your car today," said the voice at the other end, "I hate to have to ask you to bring it back".

"If you hate to ask me to bring it back, then FIX IT!" I shrieked, slamming down the receiver, and kicking the trash can across my cubical.

Well, thatís what I wanted say. What I really said was, "The oil -- can you just change the oil and filter? It is 2,000 miles past due!"

"Okay, we will change the oil", he agreed, as I wept tears of grateful joy.

"Iíll be there at 5 oíclock," I promised.

At five I showed up at the car dealership, hoping for the best. The invoice showed that they had actually changed the oil. I did a little celebration dance in the middle of the service department floor like a football player who has just scored a touchdown.

Well, thatís what I felt like doing. What I really did was pay the bill and ask for the keys.

They couldnít find the keys.

"YOU DONíT HAVE THE KEYS?" I controlled myself nicely.

They checked the little hooks where the keys should be. They looked in the car. They disappeared into the back to check with mysterious, unseen mechanics and technicians.

I went in the little room with the plastic furniture and burned coffee and waited, and waited, and waited. I had wrenched my back about week before and it was killing me. I wanted to go home.

"For heavenís sake, people! Iím a sick old woman. Find my keys!"

An hour later, the guy came in, "Iím sorry, but we just canít find your keys".

"Do I need to call someone to bring my extra set?"

"That might be a good idea."

"YOU IDIOTS! Not only did you NOT fix my car, you LOST my keys! How DUMB can you be"? I beat him over the head with my walking cane and kicked his lifeless body to a pulp. That would teach him a lesson.

Thatís what I FELT like doing. Instead, I called someone to bring my extra set of keys and waited another thirty minutes until they got there.

On the way home, a warning message on the dashboard flashed, "Oil life remaining 30%". They didnít change the oil? I couldnít believe it! I did a U-turn, drove back to the dealership, and crashed my car through the showroom window, laughing hysterically!

Yes, thatís only what I FELT like doing. Instead I just drove home. A few days later when I could almost control my anger, I went back and talked to the service manager. My keys had still not been found.

"We will make a new key and get a new remote entry for you," she said.

"Darn right you will! You are lucky Iím not making you change the ignition and door locks! I should sue you"

Okay, okay, that is only what I felt like saying. Why worry about it? Surely nothing else will go wrong, I thought, as I got back in my car.

That was when my seat belt buckle jammed.


Copyright 2006 Sheila Moss
 
 



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