I have been trapped in a tornado of idiots for the past four
months. It started with one idiot who decided not to chain up his car in the
snow. My family met that idiot head-on in our Suburban in January. The collision
seemed to open some sort of space/time crack in the galactic idiot-o-sphere,
unleashing dozens more idiots into my life.
I spent the next three months swirling around and around
with a gaggle of insurance estimator idiots and collision repair shop idiots,
all of whom thought it was possible to repair a Suburban back to showroom
quality after an eight-airbag head-on collision without actually doing any work
on the frame.
I foolishly thought I had been thrown clear of the idiot
tornado when I finally received a total loss settlement check. Three months
after the wreck some idiot reluctantly did an actual frame inspection and
declared, “Wow. This thing looks like it’s been in some sort of collision. We’ll
need a new one of these.”
If I was ever clear of the swirling mass of idiots for any
amount of time, that’s over now. I’ve been sucked back in.
I found myself on Interstate 680 in the San Francisco Bay
Area yesterday, at four o’clock in the afternoon, driving home at anywhere from
zero to eighty miles an hour, depending on which ten-foot section of road I was
on. I don’t live in the Bay Area on purpose, and I avoid driving there whenever
possible, due to the high concentration of idiots on their roads. If you’ve
never driven in the Bay Area, try to keep it that way. It’s a lot like driving
in Tijuana, only with more idiots. And more Porsche drivers. But I repeat
myself.
Part of the reason for the insane stop-and-go traffic I was
in had to do with how many accidents there were on the side of the road from
all the insane stop-and-go traffic. I was more than a little perturbed already
from my experience at Idiot Chevrolet of Fremont earlier in the day, and all I
could think was, “If some idiot rear-ends me in this traffic – the traffic that
I’m in only because of car dealership idiots, stemming from my original January
head-on meeting with Idiot Zero – and I have to be involved in a second
insurance claim because I’m here as a result of the first insurance claim, I
might actually completely lose it.”
Fortunately, I made it out without any more collisions, and
my nerves are slightly less frayed today. Had I been involved in another
collision yesterday, I have a feeling I might have been taken to jail for a psych
eval. I’m glad that didn’t have to happen, because jail is not the place to go
if you’re trying to have less idiots in your life.
Why was I so incensed, you ask, if you’re the kind of person
who uses words like ‘incensed’? Because Idiot Chevrolet of Fremont is 130 miles
from my house, that’s why. They had a 2016 Suburban that was priced way under
blue book value, and looked great in the pictures. After some checking by Idiot
Car Salesman One, the car was still in their inventory, and he had enlisted the
help of Idiot Car Salesman Two, who was holding it for me until I arrived. I
dropped what I was doing and jumped in the car. Two and a half hours later, I
was behind the wheel of what would soon be my new beautiful underpriced 2016
Suburban, on a test drive with Idiot Car Salesman Two.
Leather everything. Automatic everything. It tells me when I
drift out of my lane. It alerts me to an impending front impact collision. It
has heated seats and dual memory seat positions. The dashboard screen links to
my phone and the screen becomes my phone’s screen. And if I push a little
button, the screen magically rises out of the dashboard and reveals a hidden
storage compartment – with a USB port! It has great tires. It mows the lawn. It
does your taxes. It watches your dog while you’re on vacation. It buys my wife
flowers.
I’ll take it!
Idiot Car Salesman Two begins the paperwork. I text my wife.
New car! Idiot Car Salesman Two busies himself with car salesman tasks. I sit
in my new car and admire the thirty-nine thousand new features. Idiot Car
Salesman Two comes out and says that unfortunately the car is on hold for
another buyer.
Sorry, I must not have heard you correctly after my 130-mile
drive. Idiot Car Salesman Two says someone was there on Sunday, but there was a
problem with his payment, but it’s worked out now and he’s buying the car. My
right eye begins to twitch.
Idiot Car Salesman Two introduces me to Idiot Car Dealership
Manager, who explains that their entire system is run by idiots. I explain that
it is a 260-mile round-trip from my house, and I dropped everything and drove
here because Idiot Car Salesman One - who seems to be absent – assured me the
car was available. Idiot Car Dealership Manager explains again the idiotic idiosyncrasies
of Idiotville.
I somehow manage not to punch anyone, and begin my 130-mile
drive home through a swirling mass of idiots. At an average of seven miles per
hour.
At least it's not snowing.
It’s possible that there’s a reason for all this. God may
have me trapped in this idiot storm in order to get me ready for a situation down
the line involving an even larger group of idiots.
At this point, however, I don't see how that could be
possible.
See you soon,
-Smidge
Copyright © 2017 Marc Schmatjen
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