As a mother of four I don’t get much time to myself. We recently declared the bathroom off limits to the twinkies while I am in there. At six they are probably too old to see Mom in the shower or on the loo anymore. At least, that’s the excuse I’m using to get a few sacred moments of quiet during the day. That brief reprieve is usually met by several knocks on the door and at least one person waiting outside for me to do something terribly important like get down the crayons or cut up an apple. That’s why I was somewhat grateful for recent car trouble.
My car trouble was a true first world problem. The bluetooth in the minivan stopped working. I can’t possibly be expected to drive to school, the gym, the commissary, soccer, and the liquor store without my iPod blaring through the speakers. If for no other reason than to watch the boys rock out to “Low” or anger the teenagers by playing a constant loop of Gary Allan. It had to be fixed. I made an appointment and went to the dealership at my assigned time. I figured the problem would be a quick fix, maybe 20 minutes to reset whatever needed reset and then I’d be on my way. I’ll admit, I looked forward to those 20 minutes of quiet. One of the best things about our wired society is that hardly anyone tries to strike up conversations in waiting rooms anymore. I like that. I don’t want to talk to anyone anyway. I want to read my book or scroll through the internet unfettered by children and dogs and husbands.
It’s an unspoken rule, isn’t it? Doesn’t everyone look forward to a little peace and quiet? Even though my last visit to the dealership was a gross feet fiasco, I had high hopes that this one would be better.
Unfortunately one woman did not get the memo. Instead of quietly playing games or reading on her smart phone or tablet (she had both) she decided to talk on the phone. Loudly. VERY LOUDLY. She made three phone calls, all of a very personal nature, all in her loudest voice, all from the waiting room. It was almost 40 degrees in Anchorage yesterday, that’s practically summer – there’s no reason she couldn’t have gone outside. Or emailed. Or texted. Or Facebooked. Nope, she talked and talked and talked.
I wanted to shake the shit out of her.
This was all made worse by the fact that it took them two and a half hours to figure out what was wrong with the van. (The didn’t fix it, that’s next week because they had to order the part. Stupid Alaska) Two and a half hours of listening to this idiot woman talk about her knee surgery, her cousin in the nursing home, her love for her friends, and then recap it all over and over. Who does that?
I’ve never been so hateful of mankind in my entire life. That’s really saying something considering I’ve attended concerts and professional sporting events. If you own a cell phone understand this, you are not on a reality TV show. There are no hidden cameras waiting for the next juicy bit of gossip. No one, I promise no one wants to hear your telephone conversations. If you must talk on the phone, go outside so you don’t bother the rest of us. Because seriously, I only get so much time to myself each day and if you ruin I will cut you.