Thanks to a bolt deciding it wanted to travel around with me and my CRV, I spent 1-1/2 hours at the local garage Tuesday waiting while the offending object was removed from Putt-Putt’s innocent tire. Given there were several people in the waiting area I decided to pass the time people-watching.
First up was the woman behind the counter. I can never remember her name, but she’s worked at the garage for 18 years and knows her stuff when it comes to explaining car issues to customers. I don’t go to this garage for anything major, just oil changes, smog checks and flat repairs, but every time I have gone this lady always has the longest and brightest pink fingernails I’ve ever seen. I’m pretty sure they’re fake because they’re never broken, and always the same length on every finger – 2-1/2″ or so. I never cease to be amazed that she can actually do things with these daggers at the ends of her fingers!
This past Tuesday she was sporting something new – a bandage on her forehead and a black left eye. Since the waiting area had recently undergone some renovations, my witty self wanted to ask if she had gotten in the way of falling debris, but the mature me just kept my lips zipped in fear that something much more serious had happened. That would be my luck. Fortunately, just before I left a female customer came in to pick up her vehicle and asked my question. Seems Miss Fingernails was yakking on her cell phone while walking around her bed, slipped on a piece of clothing on the floor and had an unplanned facial encounter with her bureau! Fortunately nothing was broken but there was lingering evidence.
There were two older gentleman occupying seats in the waiting area. The one to the right of me insisted upon jingling the coins in his pocket non-stop. I so wanted to ask him why men feel the need to do this, but again, I kept the lips zipped and sighed heavily (but silently) when the service tech retrieved this guy’s van. The guy went outside and stood at the garage bay entrance watching everything. I assumed the jingling continued…
I was confident that the gentleman to the left of me had a “piece” on the top of his head as the seam on the side facing me was so incredibly obvious. The hair on the top of his head was horizontal and the hair on the sides was vertical, but in no way did the two intermingle. Nope, there was a very distinct line where the two directions met.
It took every ounce of willpower to not laugh when he was called to the counter to pay for the smog check on his spiffy red convertible Mustang. He had one heck of a comb-over!!! It started halfway down the back of his head, went up and over the top of his head and ended somewhere on the left side. From where I was sitting it looked like one very long bunch of hair doing this. It made me wonder not about what was or was not underneath said comb-over, but how long the hair doing the hiding was!!! I’m picturing pony-tail worthy lengths…
Now, on to the Quirky Couple.
I’d call this elderly mother and son duo eccentric except that’s a word I prefer to use to describe myself, so no one else gets that label. But quirky works just as well.
I first noticed them when they climbed out of a pick-up truck that left shortly thereafter and watched them the whole time they were at the garage. I don’t know why, but they just fascinated the people-watcher in me…
The Mom had shoulder-length white blond hair, the sides held up over her ears with bobby pins. She was wearing a red turtleneck underneath a tan sweatshirt, light purple sweatpants with dark purple furry cuffs, gray socks with a red, white and blue pattern and white sneakers. The socks were visible because the left pant leg stopped 2″-3″ above her ankles and the right pant leg? Another 2″ or 3″ higher! She was carrying a large dark gray Etienne Aigner purse with his name splattered all over it in light gray writing, and tan leather (or fake leather) on the seams, bottom and straps. The outside of her left sneaker heel was worn down a good 1/2″ or so but the balance of that sneaker and all of the right sneaker didn’t seem to be worn much at all.
I estimated her son to be somewhere in his 50′s. He was taller and broader than his Mom and sporting well-worn jeans, a t-shirt that at one time was white, a brown zip-up jacket that hung low in the front and high in the back making the t-shirt visible and a dark baseball cap. His pants were long enough that the bottoms in the back were frayed from dragging on the ground or being walked upon. When he turned around the first thing I saw was just how old his t-shirt was. There weren’t any holes anywhere but it was definitely old. It wasn’t dirty as much as just discolored from so much use. And thin! Yikes you could almost read through it! When I moved my eyes upward I discovered that he was wearing large dark-framed glasses that fortunately for him were not thick.
For some reason my gaze shifted back to the Mom just as the light purple pants started turning dark purple. Mom leaned over to Son and said something then meandered out of the waiting area and around the corner to the bathrooms on the side of the garage. I instantly felt sorry for her because it was obviously too late.
While Mom was gone Son talked with Fingernails about Mom’s car, reviewed the bill and paid it. Fingernails inquired as to Mom’s health and Son said she was fine, sharp as a tack, but there are some things she shouldn’t be doing any more. I took this to mean driving, as part of the discussion was the value of Mom’s car, especially given the $1600 worth of repairs just made (they ended up leaving before me so I know said vehicle was what people often call “a boat” – a very big something from the 70′s that I did not recognize).
Before Mom returned, the number of people sitting in the waiting room expanded to four – me, Comb-over and a young Mexican couple. Son and Fingernails were still standing on their respective sides of the counter.
As Mom walked through the door to the waiting area she looked at the four of us, smiled then took her place next to her son. Her face was beautiful — skin smooth, gray/blue eyes bright and cheery and her nose and mouth in perfect proportion to her petite frame.
The pair remained at the counter for another five minutes or so, and as they left I suddenly realized what had grabbed my attention. It wasn’t so much the quirky appearance of these two, but it was Mom’s incredible grace. She moved slowly but deliberately, was dressed colorfully, looked beautiful and stood in front of all of us with confidence and not a care in the world even though she knew what happened, and that we did too.
My pity quickly turned to admiration and I grabbed a pen and notebook from my purse to jot down all the details so I could share them with you. More importantly, I wanted to write this for myself as a lesson to look back on whenever I’m feeling self-conscious about something, out-of-place or worried about what others think of me or my appearance.
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Posted by ordinarybutinteresting 
