What Is A Car — Er, Self Means: A Friend

Self is at home, brain numb. Numb, numb, numb.

Got back from another exciting day at xxxx community college, where self was told by police that even with medical disability parking placard (which kind physician told self to obtain from DMV, because after all, she does have a very gimpy neck) she will get a ticket if she parks in any staff lot without the requisite parking permit (which she of course slapped on that other car, the one that’s languishing at mechanic).

She already had ticket from Monday. So, this would be her second ticket this week. What did self do? In a stroke of genius, she decided to appeal to Dean. Who, wonder of wonders, took self’s side, and herself placed call to police department, requesting that they not ticket self’s rental car.

Hallelujah!!!

Then, self went home. Decided to find out from Dollar how much more she would pay if she kept car two days beyond contract. Dollar informed self she’d pay $100 more. So, just like that, self decided she would return rental car forthwith. But how would self get back home? This was indeed a problem.

Self surmised she could always take a bus. Of course, no knowing how long that would take– probably an hour, as buses seem to come only every half hour in her area. And then self would have to walk two miles from El Camino to her house. Which meant she’d better change into sneakers. And then, and then —

But self is simply too tired. She thinks: isn’t there any other way to do this?

At which point self finds herself calling trusty Sandy (who self remembers has Wednesdays off from the dentist’s office where she works as hygienist).

What are friends for, self wonders? How many times has self called on Sandy in her hour of direst need? Such as the time she was stranded in Italian restaurant and it was late and there were no taxis and Sandy had just had hip surgery and was hobbling around with a cane and never mind calling hubby because he was as usual somewhere else? Yes, self (feeling terrible) did place the call, and Sandy came and hobbled into the restaurant and collected self and drove her home.

There is no one else self can think of to ask in times of need.

Now, if she were cousin in Virginia, there would be oodles of people around, as cousin has developed quite a network over there. Amazing, and she’s only lived there for six years. Is it not pathetic that self has lived in California for 20 years and has only Sandy? Self would never ever think of calling uncle in Daly City, or any of her Titas, as they would gossip, talk behind her back, and make self feel stupid for even asking for help.

Anyhoo, everything developed as self hoped: Sandy came. We had delicious lunch of Baja Burrito and Carnitas in Margarita’s in downtown Redwood City. Self even thought of requesting that Sandy drop her in front of the movie theatre on the way back, so she could catch movie she’s been dying to see for weeks: 3:10 to Yuma.

When self called Sandy, Sandy was tearing her hair out trying to set up a business on eBay. She’s even taken classes from an eBay consultant, and is really serious about this new pursuit. Self thinks it is simply fascinating, the many ventures that Sandy tries. Moreover, Sandy has two very smart and very eligible boys who self thinks she should try matching up with niece G, when niece gets back from Oxford.

Anyhoo, because of Sandy, self got home and had time to watch the news, where she heard some young man say, possibly in a commercial: What is a car? A car is the most intimate thing we own. We know everything about our cars. But it costs only a fraction of our homes.

Then, the clip ends. Aaargh! Self was nodding throughout the quote, listening with grave attention, and now she wants to ask young man, “Your point being — ?”

Now self has to devote attention to TV, where reporter is going on about the Great Pumpkin Festival in Half Moon Bay. He’s standing in front of a humongous pumpkin which looks nothing like a pumpkin — more like, more like a tumor. It’s not orange at all. In fact, it’s almost white. And it’s lumpy. And it has a name: Zsa Zsa (I kid you not, dear blog reader. Google Zsa Zsa the Pumpkin if you doubt self!)

Stay tuned, dear blog reader, stay tuned.

, ,

6 responses to “What Is A Car — Er, Self Means: A Friend”

  1. If Sandy wants to e-mail me about eBay, I can help with some basics. I was an eBay Powerseller for 7 years….then quit after the stroke. It was a lot of fun for me. I sold pre-Vatican 2 religious things I found in estate sales. So anything really goes on eBay.

    I feel the same way about this place we live. I think in the Philippines you have a community whether you want it or not. If we were there, I would send our car to you, like in Manila. 🙂

    Like

  2. Another thought. You have to meet my Bay Area family. They are quirky, eccentric, validating, and operate like another branch of my family. I have sent my dearest West Coast friends to their parties and they get adopted. You can meet MY Dearest Mum. You’ll feel right at home, my DM and Fave Tita both play the piano. They love adopting my friends (because they think of me living out here, in the cold, on the edge of the world without pan de sal).

    Like

  3. Self,
    Wow, you’re lucky to have a friend like Sandy.

    I hope you get your car back soon.

    Is there anyone else named Zsa Zsa other than the middle Gabor sister? Seems odd to have a completely unique first name.

    Like

  4. The mechanics say next week . . . sometime . . .

    In the meantime, today I walked 2 miles to downtown movie theatre, just to see Jodie in “The Brave One.” Very depressing. In the movie, her character is totally zombie-like. I much preferred her in “Inside Man.”

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: