IN Which I Learn That I Am Too a Nervous Nellie of a Driver/Car-Owner

My car has been what I thought was unusually noisy lately, and it was making me nervous. So I brought it over to the service department of the local dealership of my variety of car (as recommended by my father, who I figure knows what he's talking about). I waited a little bit (and studied Yiddish vocabulary), and someone came out and took my car for a short test drive with me, listened to the loudest it's gotten and said it was perfectly normal, that Maybe there was a tiny exhaust leak somewhere, but nothing that would hurt the car, and nothing I should worry about. He did tell me that when I next had my car serviced, I might want to ask for the ignition to be lubricated so it wouldn't give me trouble- it's a little cranky, and apparently could someday possibly stop working, but that I would probably notice it getting crankier first. 'Tis good to know. He also commented that cars of my car's age were "real workhorses": not something I get to hear in every day life: it was sort of friendly sounding, somehow. Rather pleasing, if just because I like slightly old-fashioned speech.

The gentleman who did the road test seems like a very diplomatic choice on the part of the dealership: he's probably about my parents' age, white, and with the wholesome/easily pronouncable name of Dave. And that's what his name-patch says too: Dave, not David. A nice man all around. But I was quite surprised at how relieved I was that he was a genuine certifiable grown-up of the sort that reminds me of the people we used to meet at the 4th of July parties that the owners of the day care the sib and I went to in the summer had. (THat's Way too long a gennative chain there. I expect I lost Everyone on what was actually going on there. But I don't know how to simplify it any. But it would make a really prettily branched sentence diagram.) But the "person clearly over 45" quality was somehow intensely reassuring.

I drove home, parked, got out of the car, and promptly slipped and fell on a patch of ice. (No major harm done, just skinned one spot on the heel of my palm.)

IN Which I Learn That I Am Too a Nervous Nellie of a Driver/Car-Owner

My car has been what I thought was unusually noisy lately, and it was making me nervous. So I brought it over to the service department of the local dealership of my variety of car (as recommended by my father, who I figure knows what he's talking about). I waited a little bit (and studied Yiddish vocabulary), and someone came out and took my car for a short test drive with me, listened to the loudest it's gotten and said it was perfectly normal, that Maybe there was a tiny exhaust leak somewhere, but nothing that would hurt the car, and nothing I should worry about. He did tell me that when I next had my car serviced, I might want to ask for the ignition to be lubricated so it wouldn't give me trouble- it's a little cranky, and apparently could someday possibly stop working, but that I would probably notice it getting crankier first. 'Tis good to know. He also commented that cars of my car's age were "real workhorses": not something I get to hear in every day life: it was sort of friendly sounding, somehow. Rather pleasing, if just because I like slightly old-fashioned speech.

The gentleman who did the road test seems like a very diplomatic choice on the part of the dealership: he's probably about my parents' age, white, and with the wholesome/easily pronouncable name of Dave. And that's what his name-patch says too: Dave, not David. A nice man all around. But I was quite surprised at how relieved I was that he was a genuine certifiable grown-up of the sort that reminds me of the people we used to meet at the 4th of July parties that the owners of the day care the sib and I went to in the summer had. (THat's Way too long a gennative chain there. I expect I lost Everyone on what was actually going on there. But I don't know how to simplify it any. But it would make a really prettily branched sentence diagram.) But the "person clearly over 45" quality was somehow intensely reassuring.

I drove home, parked, got out of the car, and promptly slipped and fell on a patch of ice. (No major harm done, just skinned one spot on the heel of my palm.)