Reason Number 81 Why I Am Going to Hell

This actually happened a few months back yet I think it is still worth telling. As you all know by now, I don't really have a social life. Thus I usually don't have much to tell. If it weren't for my co-workers, I probably wouldn't have much to share at all. Luckily, I am surrounded by quirky co-workers that keep me entertained and put up with all my idiosyncrasies.  My friend Heidi, who was featured in two of my earlier reasons I am going to hell, is one of such co-workers. Heidi is, of course, not her real name. I shall never reveal her real name or where we work in order to protect her privacy (along with the Co-Worker's [who has unfortunately recently informed that she will not be reading this blog anymore due to the inconsistency of my posting]and He Who Reads From the Shadows'). I am adding a new co-worker as I am sure that she will give me more than just this one story I am about to tell. She shall be henceforth known by the moniker of Dottie. (On a personal note, I chose that nickname because I know she will hate it.)

When I first started my current job, I was excited because I thought I was going to have plenty of time to read. I did not however know that, although I would have time, I would not have the willpower to read as often as I could because I would waste too much time playing around with co-workers and watching videos on the minuscule screen on my iPod.

On random days, though, I can be seen reading a book here and there. A few months back, I was reading Letters From the Earth by Mark Twain. It had come greatly recommended by a very valued friend and I was not disappointed. I was sitting at my desk reading when Dottie came up to it and asked me what I was doing. Always eager to engage someone in conversation and maybe even lure them into an argument, I quickly told her about the book. I know that the anti-religious sentiment in it would not bode well with her as we had argued about religion in the past. This time however I was surprised by the fact that she was not as judgmental as I expected and just went on a tangent about how she wanted to get an e-reader. She said she had recently been called to jury duty and that she saw a young girl, Dottie is "middle-aged" (I refuse to give her real age on account that she has already threatened to shoot me in the past), with one and she had become interested. I, having a Lit degree, quickly argued that you lose a lot from the reading experience by not having a physical book when you are reading. She said she could see my point but was quick to add that you could have up to a thousand books and could carry them more conveniently. I quickly countered by saying, "That doesn't matter. You don't even have enough time left to read a thousand books." Which might have been a bad thing to say. Especially if you remember that she I said she was "middle-aged", which is me being generous about her age. Still, I probably should not tell someone that they won't be alive long enough to read as many books as they want. Fortunately, once it dawned on her what I had said and after the quick shock of the comment, she laughed it off. I felt kind of bad and tried to fix it by saying that I probably did not have enough time to read a thousand books either. It did not seem too consoling that we were both too old to read one thousand books. Anyway, she did say that I was going to go to hell for saying something like that after which I had no choice but to write about it here.

Well, there it is. Reason number eighty-one why I am going to hell is that I reminded someone that death is nigh, and nigher every minute. I rather like this story but it probably is one of those stories which were better if you were there. Anyway, at least I had something to write. To be honest, I started writing this pretty late on Sunday night and after a whole day of cleaning and laundry. The only reason I did is because I promised Preggo, for whom I need to find a new nickname since she already had her baby, that I would write something on the blog this weekend. I do have one more reason why I am going to hell coming and a lot of stuff has happened so I do want to write a new post soon. Until then, thanks for still reading.

Reason Number 79 Why I Am Going to Hell

A while back, I had planned to take some of my co-workers to the drag show in Dallas. I find the drag show to be really fun and I believe it is something most people should experience at least once in their lifetime.  Due to the fact that we all have very different schedules I had planned it with a month in advance.  I even made a facebook event and invited the 6 co-workers that were to come. The first hitch we had was that The Co-Worker was not going to be able to come, thus reducing our number to 5. Preggo was also invited but could not attend. Since she is not a co-worker, and does not have a facebook page, she was not counted in the official list anyway. Other than that, everything seemed to be going smoothly, that was until one day before the day we were supposed to go.  This is what leads to reason seventy-nine of why I am going to hell.

We were scheduled to go on a Saturday night. The morning of the Friday before, everyone that was going had confirmed and we had even discussed logistics. Two of the co-workers are really close and had said that if one of them could not go, the other would not go either. That fateful morning, Heidi received a call from her mother. One of her aunts in Houston was very ill and had been given two days to live. She was going to have to drive down to Houston that weekend and was thus going to miss the drag show. Unfortunately, because she was not attending, her friend was not going to go either. When they cancelled, another co-worker said she really did not want to attend and that left me with just one more person who agreed that it would just be better if we re-scheduled.

I was so disappointed. It's just my luck to have one of my friend's aunts die on the weekend when I am planning an outing. Bear with me, it gets worse. I walked over to my desk, picked up my phone and called The Co-Worker and said, "Imma beat me a dead woman." I apologize for the horrible grammar in that sentence but I am quoting verbatim for two reasons. First of all, I wanted the quote to be realistic, and second, because I love how that phrase sounds. There you have it, reason number 79 why I am going to hell. Not only was I unsympathetic towards Heidi's family loss, I was mad at her aunt for interfering with my plans by dying.

Yes, I do recognize how horrible this is. I am pretty sure that hell will have a circle completely dedicated to me and that drag queens will somehow be incorporated into the punishment. I just thought that such a punishment would have to be so creative that it is a shame one can't blog from hell or I could do a follow-up to each of the reasons why I am going to hell with what punishment I was attributed for it. Hmmm, something to think about, perhaps?

So, If You Had a White Dodge Avenger, What Would You Name Him?

First of all, yes, I referred to a car as a "him." Why? I don't know. I know most people refer to their cars as feminine, but that has always rang false to me. My cars are boys. Now, if it were a van or a truck, it would be feminine. That's a given. I think this stems from the fact that in Spanish the word "carro" is masculine and the word "van" and "troca" are feminine. All this, however, is neither here nor there. Regardless, I am going to go into excruciating detail because that is what I do best.

My first vehicle was an '89 GMC VanDura. I do not have a picture of it, but it was a huge van that was all metal. I mention that because it was a great car to learn to drive in. People will get out of your way if you are driving a big chunk of metal and seem to have no clue as to what you are doing. If they don't, they soon realize that a collision with said vehicle will damage their car while leaving mine mostly intact. In all the years I drove that van, only one car had to learn that lesson the hard way (it ended up with no back bumper). The van also emerged victorious from an encounter with a stop sign. In fact, the only object that managed to damage my van was a wall I backed into. I guess walls are sturdier than expected. I loved this van. I had it while I was still a church going kid and we used to drive it everywhere. It was not unusual for me to have anywhere from eight to fifteen teens packed in that van, which was really fun considering it did not have a/c. Lucky for me, I was always driving and the driver and passenger windows did roll down. I have many fun memories of that van. Among them, the very first parking lot talks of my life. Many of the great conversations in my life have happened in parking lots. We would sit in that van and discuss everything, from our biggest problems to the latest gossip. This led to us having a motto, "Lo que pasa en la Scooby, se queda en la Scooby." This meant, "What happens in the Scooby, stays in the Scooby." As you can probably infer, the name of the van was "The Scooby Van." It wasn't green, but it was big and it worked for us. Thus, the tradition of naming my cars was born.

My second car was green, but it wasn't a van. It was a Ford Focus. Do not expect me to explain why, but I loved that car as well. I have an eclectic taste for cars but from the moment the Focus first came out, it was on my list of favorite cars. And no, I did not like the hatchback but the four-door sedan. I know the car was not unique and that was part of its appeal. I never put a bumper sticker on it or anything that would make it stand out from any other green Focus. I loved that. The reason why I loved that, and this is going to sound shady, is that if I ever committed a crime and a witness was trying to describe the getaway car, they would have nothing more than "green focus." I am not planning on committing any crimes, but anonymity seemed really important for some reason. I don't remember how the naming of this car came about, but I do know that his name is Frank. I think at one point Frank had a last name, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. Last year, and I know it was mostly because of how badly I took care of it for the five years I had it, Frank started malfunctioning so I had to get a new car. Thankfully, my dad needed a car to use so he could drive to and from work so I still get to see, and even drive, Frank fairly often.

This brings me to the white Dodge Avenger I have now. I have had it for about a year. It usually runs well and is pretty comfortable. The acquisition of this car was quite different from the other two. The Scooby Van was a hand me down from my parents. Frank, I went out and looked till I found him. It was funny because the only thing I knew when I went car shopping is that I wanted a green Focus. People thought I was weird. I called myself eccentric. The Avenger, however, has a whole different story.

I had told my parents I was thinking of getting a new car. This was of course last May. I was at my old job as a receptionist at the retirement village and I had to work for four hours on Saturdays. Well, one Saturday, I get a call from my parents asking me to step outside for a minute. When I did, I saw them drive up in this white car. They told me that they had gone car shopping in the morning and that they liked this car for me. I was then instructed to stop by the car dealership after work so I could sign the paperwork. When I got off work, I met them at the dealership. We talked for a few minutes in which I told them that I really wanted to just get another Focus. They said that they did not like the Focus anymore and that I needed something else. After that, I walked in and signed the papers. The car is under my name, purchased with my credit, I will be making the monthly payments, I am responsible for the insurance, in fact it's one hundred percent my car, except for the fact that I did not get to pick it.

I suffer from a big delusion. I think, and believe, inanimate objects have feelings. Which is part of the reason why I feel bad writing the next sentence. I am not sure I like my new car. It is not my style. Also, my parents took it to Mexico within a month of me buying it and tinted the windows dark. I guess that is OK, but it wasn't my choice as I tend to think of cars with tinted windows as drug dealer cars. Granted, that may be because I grew up in Juarez and drug dealers tended to tint their windows really dark. All I am saying is that it is not really my style. I still feel a disconnect between me and the new car. I think it comes from the fact that he really was not my number one option and that I did not have much choice in choosing him. Don't get me wrong, he has been a good car. That is until it broke down about a month ago.

I woke up on a Wednesday morning, got ready for work and stepped outside to go to work. I got into my car and turned the ignition on and, since I was a bit early, I even let it warm up a bit before I left. That's when things went wrong. When I went to shift into gear, I could not shift out of Park. I tried for a few minutes and, after failing repeatedly, I decided to take my dad's truck to work. Upon arriving at work, I consulted with several friends and got several tips on trying to get it to work. None of them worked when I tried them at lunch so I had to have it towed to the dealership to get it worked on. By Thursday, the car was working again.

It really wasn't anything more than a major inconvenience but it did get me thinking. Was I being unfair to him because I did not like him as much? Did he realize that he was the red-headed step child of my cars and thus was acting out? Had I hurt his feelings since I had not made an effort to bond with him? Was I taking him for granted and was he trying to teach me a lesson? While talking to The Co-Worker, her who convinced me to start writing a blog, I realized I had not even named this car yet. For one, she thought that cars having guy names was hilarious and was cracking up about Frank's name. But the fact that the Avenger did not have a name bothered me and we tried to come up with a few. We thought of Moby-Dick and such but nothing really seemed satisfactory which brings me to the title of this post, "If you had a white Dodge Avenger, what would you name him?"

I know I probably do not have a lot of readers left since I have been bad about writing often, but for those few of you that still read it, any and all suggestions will be appreciated. I don't have a picture of my car today but I will take one tomorrow and add it to this post to help give you an idea. Please help me bond to the car that I will have for the next four years at the very least. After all, he is a good car and it is not his fault that my parents chose him instead of me. He has performed admirably and he deserves a good name, won't you help him?


Picture courtesy of my friend Preggo (not her real name). Thanks for taking the picture Preggo!