In explanation for my indiscernible status reading: Shannon Kristen loves her foreign fucking malibu, so fuck you, eminem, chinstrap, four eyes, honky black lung, and jiffylube.
I had a very weird--and disagreeable--experience at Jiffylube today.
Eminem, chinstrap, four eyes, and honky black lung are what I dubbed the incompetent and insulting workers there (I refuse to capitalize them as they are NOT proper nouns). I drive an '06 Saab 9-3 Convertible (information necessary for this story to make sense). After charging $101 for an OIL CHANGE, eminem (called this for his uncanny white-trash resemblance to the much more successful and, yes, even talented, rapper) said (unprompted, just out of the fucking blue) "I would never buy foreign." (Of course, I fired back "I would never buy American," adding the dig "I like my cars to run." The truthfulness of this statement is neither here nor there, only the unwavering and unapologetic delivery of my insult.) Standing outside, when I should have been leaving (after the monetary raping had occurred), they determined that my brake late was, in fact, out, as it said on the interior screen. (Before they had said to me "it says your brake light is out, but it's not." Yeah, must have been some of that damn foreign trickery). So, now that they used their goddamn eyes and saw that the brake light was out (honky black lung, the nondescript 20-something lip pierced, check-out girl, must have insisted 30 times "BUT I JUST CHECKED IT. IT WAS JUST WORKING!), they proceeded to take 3 years in the cold to fix it. (Side note, there were about 8 people there doing this job. It could have--and SHOULD have--taken 1). While this was taking place, chinstrap (self-explanatory alias) made a comment about how my car is "just a malibu," as in the model made by Chevy. (Again totally unprompted. And if that's the case, shouldn't eminem be thrilled with it?) As they continued to yammer on about the electrical system, I mentioned, truthfully, that I had just picked it up from the shop where an attempt had been made to install a remote starter. They told me my car was literally the only one they could not successfully operate in. The electrical system was far too complicated and they couldn't guarantee the work. To this, eminem chimed that those things were a complete breeze to install and that all cars were the same in that regard, even throwing in a detail about opening up some compartment and then just turning such and such thing on. Presto. (Oh yeah, I'm sure that the people who were about to get $600 for the job turned it down and lied to me about my car being more challenging. Furthermore, the Pgh Saab dealership I called to ask about it also lied when they said that they could not perform the task either and that my particular model could only have it factory installed--sorry. Sure, eminem. You have skills that surpass these others. That's why you're working the afternoon shift at Jiffylube, you fuck.) After going on about how I lucked out not having to pay for the $5 light they were putting in my tail light (yeah, that cost definitely wasn't covered in the Benjamin I just handed over to you people), Manolis and I got in my overpriced, foreign Chevy Malibu and looked at each other in disbelief at what had just taken place. But, just as we turned at the intersection we heard a desperate screech from honky black lung. We looked up at where we had just been and, sure enough, there she was waiving her arms in the air as if she was hailing down an airplane in the distance. I had to make several turns to get back to the lot, where I was informed by the bungling gaggle that a piece of my car about the size of a hubcap was somehow not returned to its proper place in the engine. At this point, chinstrap went about replacing it, but, not to worry, because four eyes (again, obvious and admittedly less than witty pseudonym) proceeded to inform us that "it just looks pretty" and didn't serve any real function to the engine. Well, in that case, just keep it as a paper weight!
So, there's the explanation to my status. Manolis and I decided that the establishment would serve well as a setting for the next hit reality series. Titles such as "Jiffy Shore/Jersey Lube"were tossed around.