Bent Words

Bent Words

April 29, 2011



There has been so much going on lately and I don't know where to start.

The bastard that burned my place down is being charged with drug possession and negligent handling of burning material. No candle. Just a dump dick who decided to smoke a bowl while his daughter took a bath in the next room.

We hired a new parts "manager" at the shop. Her qualifications consisted of having been fired from an AutoZone back in the day. She knows nothing about power sports. She does, however, know how to smoke and drink coffee. Really well.

"What's a Honda Metropolitan?"

A really expensive drink, bitch...

The kid they set me up with from the other store as a parts counter counterpart is turning into a little bag of shazz. Stealing sales, making up lies, squirming his way out of this and squeezing his way into that. Apparently they had the same issues with him at the other store and that's why they were so willing to dispose of him. Thanks, guys. Glad you've got a place to dump all your A+ employees.

I catch the kid fibbing left and right, juicing up stories and pouting in corners when he doesn't feel included in the As The Wheel Turns drama portion of the shop.

They did, however, get something right.

They sent down a guy to take over the recently fired service manager's role.

He's bomb. Knows what he's doing. Brings me all the service sales. Cares about what customers think. Takes his time. Doesn't make up shit as he goes. No big ego to drag along behind him. Opens doors for me if we're walking together. (!)

He's great.

Save for the part where he's in love with me.

Or, shall I say, enamored.

He finally sees all the things that no one has seen for some time.

He sees how hard I work, how much I know, how much I get done in a five minute period. He consults me and I consult him. It's give and it's take and it's generous and complete. There's this little notion of respect floating about his soul and, for the first time since the old shop, I feel lauded for the fruits of my labor. Not only that, he's a sarcastic SOB. We can joke around with the best of them and accomplish great tasks together as though we were the soul operators of the joint. Together I feel like we can make that place more.

He's inviting me to love my job again.

But that's just work, yo. That's not a relationship I'm looking for outside the shop.

Or am I?

These damned service guys always get to me...

Highly inappropriate. Highly volitile. Highly distracting.

Part of me loves every second of it. Part of me is scared to death. And part of me isn't even interested.

So I let the kid crash at my place for a couple of days because he has an hour and a half drive from his place.


He got drunk. Said too much. Revealed a lot. We tripped over the possibility and retreated just as quickly.

Highly inappropriate. Highly volitile. Highly distracting.

Where do I go with that?



The kid makes me smile right when I don't want to give a thing away. He hooks me up with birthday gifts and brief inquiries. Breakfast and a generous "Good morning."

It may not be much in the eyes of forever but it's an awful lot in a space inside three weeks.

Written at 7:09 a.m.