A Day of Raving

The other day, Hubby went to get groceries and was back in the house in five minutes. When he started the car, it acted weird, so he came back in and called the dealer. After a short discussion, he made an appointment for me to take it in for service to have it checked out.

“Maybe we just need a new battery!” I suggested.

Never one to pay attention to my sage automobile advice, he said, “No, they’re not really that old. It must be something else. The engine turned over, and then several lights started flashing.”

Hubby goes out and tries to start the car again. This time, he comes back really discouraged. It won’t even turn over, so he calls the dealer again. They tell him it’s likely the battery. Hmm. Where had he heard that before?

He accepted their advice and contacted AAA. They came out, replaced the battery, and everything returned to normal. We had to pay the full amount for the battery as its 36-month warranty expired three months ago. Talk about planned obsolescence!

Do I still need to get the car serviced? Yes, it is time for an oil change and a filter. You may ask why I do this and not Hubby. I enjoy going there. It gives me a chance to get out—yes, I am that desperate for outside social activities.

They also have free coffee lattes and sweet pastries, and the young servicemen are easy on the eyes!

I leave half an hour before my appointment, although it usually takes 20 minutes to get there. I don’t like to rush. Lo and behold, there is a significant detour from my well-traveled route. I get lost! How can anyone get lost in the Coachella Valley? I’ll tell you how. Roads twist and turn! Why don’t they go in straight lines? Everyone knows the shortest distance between two points is a straight line!

Finally, I get my bearings. I need to make a U-turn, but it isn’t allowed. There’s more traffic now as the snow and rain birds have returned to the desert. Oh well, I make the U-turn anyway. If stopped by the police, I might get away with it due to my advanced age.

I apologized to the service rep for being 15 minutes late, and he said it was no problem. I filled out the paperwork and noticed that our car was listed as blue. I pointed out that our car wasn’t blue—it was autumn shimmer. He agreed and corrected it.

I get my latte and sweet roll, read my book, and begin my wait. Then, I noticed that the two poinsettia plants in the lounge needed watering. I interrupt the receptionists, who are busy answering the phone and making appointments, to inform them. They just look at me wide-eyed.

I realized they would just ignore my suggestion, so I took a coffee cup and went into the women’s restroom to fill it with water. That was not a success. The faucet just went drip! drip! drip! Why? To conserve water, of course! What to do?

Then, I noticed a refrigerator full of small bottles of water with the car dealer’s logo under the coffee dispenser. They contained only a cup of water! Between Covid and inflation, everything comes in smaller amounts. I took two bottles and proceeded to water the poinsettias – my good deed for the day.

I realized I was thirsty, so I grabbed another bottle. As I was sipping, the service rep came to me with the paperwork and told me, in a serious tone, that I should get new tires.

“How much do they cost? And why do we need new tires? They only have 17,000 miles on them.”

Like speaking to a small child, he explained that the rubber in tires starts to degrade after 6 years, and after all, our car is 7 years old. HMMM! This sounds like a decision for Hubby. I call him. We only recently began calling each other if needed and away from home. It came in handy when I was at the store trying to buy a prime rib for Christmas. Because I started to get confused about my choices, I asked the butcher if he would talk to Hubby. That worked out so well, and they had a good time talking to each other. The butcher commented that he must be a hoot to live with.

“No, not really,” I said.

The butcher laughed.

Oh – where was I? Back to the tires. “Hubby, please talk to Cameron, the service rep. He says we need new tires.”

Cameron explained that although the tires had 50% tread left and looked brand new, time and a harsh climate could cause the rubber to disintegrate slowly, possibly creating a dangerous driving situation.

So Hubby asks Cameron, “Well, what would you advise your grandmother to do?”

[He always asks pushy sales or service people that same question.]

Having heard this ineffectual ruse before, Cameron retorts immediately, “I would tell her to get new tires.”

Hubby said he would do more research. Then I wondered—isn’t a wife as special as a grandmother? I don’t know if I should confront him about this issue or not. I’ve learned to pick my battles. An elderly gentleman sitting beside me at the dealer’s overheard the conversation. He cautioned me to be careful, as service departments always try to sell you something. He then advised me to get them at Costco if I needed new tires. Actually, Costco was already my next planned stop. So, my car’s been serviced, the paperwork has been changed to autumn shimmer, and I am happy to take a bottle of water with me.

Now, I’m on my way to Costco. OMG! It’s packed—overrun by those rain and snowbirds—so I had to park far from the entrance. I have official authorization to get a handicap sticker, which I have resisted thus far, but I am becoming motivated.

A good thing about peak visitor season at our Costco is there are many grazing stations, although I have to wait a while for a nibble. Then I discovered something interesting—premium ground Wagyu beef was only $5 a pound. Can this be true? I called Hubby, and he said, “That’s amazingly cheap. I would get it. By the way, why have you been gone so long?” “There was a detour getting to the Lexus dealer this morning, and Costco is overrun with tourists.”

I usually browse at Costco, but I was getting tired and annoyed. The last straw was when a woman with a young boy threw himself in the middle of the aisle, and I had to wait forever for him to get up. By then, I had everything on my list except for a few items Hubby wanted. I didn’t view them as essential, so I said, “Enough is enough!” When I got home, Hubby told me to rest, and he would unload the groceries. I didn’t argue. Not only did he unload the groceries, but he also took the small bottle of water from the dealer I left in the car. It remains in the refrigerator, having been put there weeks ago.

I checked the mail. A large stuffed envelope from the Veterans of Foreign Wars was there. I knew they wanted money, so I started to throw it away. Then, seeing its thickness, curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t believe what it contained. There were two potholders, two dishcloths, two beautiful birthday cards, a little plastic holder with a few tissues, a memo pad, a gold pen, a blue plastic device with a 4-inch ruler on one end, a magnifying glass in the middle, an envelope opener with a bit of a razor blade on the other end.

Of course, none of this stuff was high-quality, but I was going to buy some new potholders anyway. But when I tried them, they were so thin I burned my hand! I had to use both to remove a cookie sheet from the oven.

The envelope also contained a clear plastic device adorned with swirly green designs and a hole for hanging. I’m not sure what this device is for, but it features the outline of a carrot and a tomato. I searched online for its purpose but couldn’t find any information. Do you have any idea? Is it for chopping? If so, is it meant for cherry tomatoes and baby carrots?

Then comes the clincher: a $2.50 check payable to Hubby or bearer. Should I cash it or toss it? You know how parsimonious I am.

What to do? Of course, they’re seeking a donation. Truthfully, it makes me angry. I don’t like feeling guilty, and it weighs on me. Think of all the effort and money that went into this request. The postage couldn’t have been cheap. I checked the envelope for the cost of postage. It’s stamped “Non-Profit Org. U.S. postage paid Veterans of Foreign Wars.” HMMM! Maybe non-profits don’t have to pay postage. So I googled again. No, they have to pay postage, but not as much. Whatever, it had to be quite a lot for that package size. An oversized package costs $1.19 to mail.

I haven’t discussed any of this with Hubby. I’ve already used the potholders and gold pen and have 60 days to cash the check. Should I donate to the VFW or not? Should I give just enough to cover the cost of the items? But what’s the total cost? Birthday cards can be pricey. I have no idea about the rest of the stuff. The only thing I might use is the potholders. If I can figure out how to use the plastic thingy, I may use that too!

Good grief? If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. And on I rave. What would you do? And what’s that plastic thing for?

If you can shed some light on my dilemmas, please do so within 60 days! Your comments are always appreciated, and our readers love hearing from you!