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Date:         Tue, 6 Oct 1992 21:56:00 EDT
From:         Gilbert Smith <N567126@NCSUADM.ACS.NCSU.EDU>
Subject:      WHTMINJ 4
Comments: To: English Language Discussion Group <words-l@UGA.CC.UGA.EDU>

What Happened To Me In New Jersey 4
----------------------------------------
  In Memory o.... no.... In honor of <the brad>
-----------------------------------------
  10)  So.....  -ggs' son takes him to the Mazda dealership
to pick up his Miata, and -ggs has brought his checkbook, thinking
that the price quoted on the phone must be wrong.  And on the way,
he thinks he should have changed the oil himself (how much per
quart will they charge?  $2.50?  $3.00?)  Then he remembers his
tc/sw's frequent admonition to the effect that it is only money
(*your money*).  Arriving at the _dealership_ (god how I hate
_dealerships_), he finds the service manager smiling and calling
-ggs by his *last* name (can't believe this) and sending him to
the cashier, saying, "No, Mr. Smith, no problem with your car...
had to replace the entire gauge assembly, but that's warranty.
Brakes were all warped out of shape and had to replace almost
everything, but that's warranty.  This on a used car, with a
warranty that has at least five disclaimer clauses about what is
*not* covered if such and such.  Thinking this is a <trick>, -ggs
gets bill from cashier, pays the $105.57, and runs away before he
can be called back.  Examining the bill, he finds that all this
work is indeed totally covered, with a n/c on every line.  Hmmmm,
where's the catch?  Oil change: n/c.  Five quarts of oil: list
$1.95, price to customer: $1.00 per quart.  Two extra keys: n/c.
This is a novel, I'm sure.... or a bad movie with a happy ending.
The bank machine lady knew whereof she <spoke>.
.
  11) But, no one enjoys a story with a happy ending.  Sorry,
car runs fine, so that won't work.  Ah, good.  Home to an
answering machine with two messages on it from College Foundation,
inquiring about whether the *son* is going to bring his account up
to date or is somebody going to have to report him to such-and-such
credit agency.  And, all this time, the *son* knows nothing about
this, because his father is too embarrassed about having ruined his
credit with his irresponsible actions that he hasn't told him.  Just
give them the money, o.k.?  Yeah, he did that, but t-t-t-too
l-l-l-l-late.
  12) Uneventful Thursday, the recounting of which would only add
unnecessary justification to those votes for teller of most boring
stories.  Friday morning, and time for the airport to fly on
*American* airlines to Newark airport to see the <bebe>, the flesh
of his flesh, *finally*.  First, a trip to take daughter to her
high school, in the opposite direction from the airport.  No problem
with that, except that it puts him headed out of town on the interstate
at precisely the moment that 10,000 are trying to get to work at the
Research Triangle Park.  Traffic creeps along at 5 mph for about 30
minutes, and he arrives at the gate ten minutes before the plane
departs.  Exactly one hour to travel fifteen miles.  Feels like he
has already *been* to New Jersey.
  13)  Uneventful flight, except for the beginning, when -ggs has
trouble fitting his second suitcase, stuffed with a baby car-seat,
into the overhead compartment.  Nice young man pretending to be a
flight attendant agrees to help, and raises his eyebrows with that
*excuse me what did you say* look in his eyes when -ggs mumbles that
the bag has nothing in it but a baby-seat.  Another wierdo, we get
all kinds.  Baby-seat in bag.  That, I submit, is a new one.
  14)   Arrive without incident at Newark, but no firstborn son to
greet me.  So, I wait and am suddenly accosted by some woman punching
me on the <fanny>, so to speak.  I turn around, and who is it but
tc/sw, delighted to be there surprising me.  Not in Manhattan at all,
but right here in Newark airport greeting her devoted hubby who has
come to the <city> to sleep at his son's house while she is sleeping
at the Barbizon, in a room paid for by the Smithsonian, but only paid
for *if* the tc/sw shares the room with her colleague from what was,
before the upheaval, Czechoslovakia.  The primogenito arrives in his
car and we all go, merry and with great anticipation, toward the
HSH of the son, the nuera, and the <bebe>, anticipating the <stellar>
moment when little -ggs sees the evidence that he is old enough to
<be your grandfather>.  And, -ggs, not caring one bit how old he is,
cannot wait.
------------------------------tbc----------------------------------
--ggs
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