My plastic-and-metal stead was in dire need of some T.L.C., and after an aborted first attempt at service for lack of an ability to make appointments (or even inquire if they're necessary), I managed to get my name on the magic list for "anytime" Friday. I, in form, was the last "appointment" of the day, and after a minute or so I couldn't quite figure out why my walk-in earlier in the week was met with such harsh resistance and a turn-away; the entire process was no more than some minor form fill out and a key handover. But that's another story.

Fortunately enough, the service clerk was friendly and, owing to his honorable age and self-effaced fear of computers, quite talkative while he fumbled around in menus and hit "enter" far too many times than could have possibly been necessary. We bantered about what-not, and he asked if they would be able to keep my car over the weekend; I'd already said 'yes,' but I re-iterated it with:

"I've got my girlfriend's car I'll be able to use. And speaking of, she's supposed to pick me up; where is she?"

The latter sentence seems in hindsight obviously rhetorical, but since it did come from my mouth I wouldn't count out a bias. What he said next showcased the fact that he probably didn't realize this:

"She's probably out with another guy."

"Wouldn't surprise me, but the only guy she'd be out with is our little dog!"

As I'm sure you suspected or expected, this led to:

"So what type of dog is he?"

If you're reading this, I'd place big odds you know me and therefore already know the answer, but in the case I might actually have fans, we've got a great little Pug named Frank. As serendipitous as it was, he espoused a fondness toward the breed, and then embarked on a train of thought that seriously derailed him for a spell:

"All the time my kids were growing up, we had pugs. In fact, when my I got divorced, I got the dog, because my wife didn't want her. Which is fine, ya know, she's great. Her name's Jules. When people used to ask if I missed my wife, I would to tell them that Jules reminded me a lot of her.

She snores, and she smells like an old goat."