Ceci est la vie américaine
March 30, 2008
I paid so little for the pickup truck I bought last year that I knew I'd have to spend money on repairs eventually. I just wasn't prepared for it to be so much so soon. I'm too embarrassed to tell you the exorbitant sum I was quoted for the work it needs, or that I got the quote from a dealership. Everyone knows that you pay a premium at a dealer, but my logic was this: I'll get ripped off no matter where I take it, and although I'll pay more for parts and labor at a dealership, at least I know the work will be done right — or at least done. I’ve asked around, but nobody I know "has a guy," and I don’t want to simply choose a random mechanic who isn’t likely to have the parts anyway, so I bit the bullet and went the suckers route.
"It's not that much money," said Deborah, "Just put it on your credit card."
It's tax time, and Deborah has been bookkeeping for high rollers with $50,000 Amex bills and, therefore, has lost all perspective on what a credit card bill should look like for a guy like me. Doesn't she know that for every dollar I charge, it's one less dollar for our romantic honeymoon getaway? Either way, I guess she's right: I have no choice but to hold my nose and dive back down into the ugly muck of credit card debt. C'est la vie, as they say. Or rather, Ceci est la vie américaine.
Speaking of France, my friend Robert flew in from South Carolina for his uncle's funeral, and we met him for brunch this morning at a French restaurant in Williamsburg. We were seated by an unfriendly hostess in the restaurant's sunroom, which was essentially a greenhouse that slow-cooked us until we were hotter than the food itself. I had to chug coffee to cool down. Our friends Jason and Kitt, who had been riding their motorcycles in the cool spring air, met us at the restaurant and, although neither of them complained about the greenhouse effect any more than the rest of us, seeing them in their full riding gear made me psychosomatically hotter than South Carolina asphalt. Robert, unaccustomed to northern temperatures, had been shivering when he first met us at our apartment, but was now beginning to soak through his funeral duds. Unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, he expressed concern over stinking up his uncle's wake.
"At least you won't have to worry about anyone crying on your shoulder," said Deborah.
Robert thought, perhaps he could get away with blaming his deceased uncle. “How long has he been dead? Are you sure? "
My internet service has been out all day, and it makes me realize what a hopeless addict I am. This morning, when Deborah asked me why I was being such a crank, I told her it was because of my truck's absurdly expensive repair bill, but when we returned from brunch and found that we still couldn't connect, I realized it was withdrawals. Regardless of how much I was sweating and shaking, I couldn't last more than 30 minutes on hold with Verizon. Salsa music blasted in my ear while I waited and waited for the "next available service representative," but no one came. My building used to be full of free love hippies with unprotected wireless networks, and the last time my internet service was down, there were a dozen wide-open networks to choose from, but this time, I was stopped at the gate at every turn by a password I couldn't provide. Deborah went to the movies with our next-door neighbor, Adie, and Adie was sympathetic to my plight— her own troubles with Verizon lasted several weeks. She threw me a bone on their way out and gave me her password.
I diddled and dawdled on the internet until Deborah came home.
"How was the movie?"
"Bridget Bardot is so cute," she said. They'd gone to see Contempt at the Film Forum. "I'm going to start acting more like her from now on."
"How is that?"
"Kind of bratty, actually," she laughed. "She lounged around the house changing her wig and her clothes constantly — when she was wearing clothes, that is."
"Sounds like all you need is a few more wigs."
"Oh!" she said, slapping me hard across the shoulder. "Who's the brat?"
