MY LIFE:
I didn’t plan on writing this so soon in the life of JimmysChair, but sometimes life spills cheap marinara sauce down your white button-down shirt. Well, this morning, that drippy spaghetti sauce found my shirt. Here goes…I think I’m definitely a sucker, guys. (Where is this going? What happened? JIMMY! TELL US! THE ANTICIPATION! DEAR GOD, THE ANTICIPATION!)
Being a responsible car-leaser (mos def does not sound as cool as “car owner”, but we don’t lie on these pages) I was due to bring my 2015 Chevrolet Equinox in for an oil change at 7AM this morning. I made the appointment ahead of time because PLANNING! I figured that leaving the city so early would help me avoid the stress of traffic, and maybe I would even have enough time to have my morning nana and coffee at a restaurant like Starbucks. Oh boyyyyyy!
Unfortunately, while heading down Division St. in bumper to bumper traffic at 6:23AM (life!) I was rear-the-fuck-ended. Hard, guys. I immediately, angrily yelped a guttural “NOOOO!!!!” In the land of Progressive Insurance and a leased SUV, the crunch-sound of a minor accident sounds EXACTLY like the sound my phone makes when Chase texts me a low-balance notification. I pulled over and hoped an apologetic, millionaire was driving this Pontiac Grand Prix to prove how humble millionaires can be.
Surprisingly, the driver was not an apologetic millionaire (this Jimmy fella’ is a real GOOF!). Instead, he was a mid 50s guy wearing a flat-brim hat (not good) who pulled over, immediately opened his door and began bawling crying “I don’t have a license!!!” Don’t worry though, it gets better. As I debated calling the cops on a grown man crying, I told him I was going to take pictures of our cars. Then my phone died cuz I dare it to every night, hoping that it’ll overcome the adversity of 6% battery and build phone-character.
My phone is a weak weak phone and I am a weak weak man. Like father, like phone. I told “Cryface McFlatBrim” that I wasn’t going to call the cops on him. Honestly, it was awful seeing this. I know what it’s like to be in some difficult times, but I’ve never cried in front of a grown man stranger. That’s the type of “fuck-I’m-in-BIG-trouble”-stuff that nightmares are made of. I’m guessing jail was on his horizon if I called the cops. I can’t do that to someone who hasn’t made me bleed.
Being the sweetheart of a sucker that I am, I told him that I needed to take down ALL of his information. I took down his license plate #, insurance card of his wife, VIN, a urine sample, his iPhone passcode, his deepest darkest secret, and recorded his opinion on whether the “Making A Murderer” proved, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Steven Avery is not guilty. Why did I trust him? (Is that my Dad screaming “you idiot!”? He may not say it, but he’s proud of me.) I trusted him because he told me he worked at General Motors and he said “I’m a trustworthy guy.” That’s kind of exactly what you want to hear if you’re wondering if a guy is trustworthy, right? YUP!
Now, I’m writing this in the “work lounge” of my car dealership while eating a hollowed out bagel (stress cancels out cals and carbs).
This story is about to continue with the estimate for the body damage that I’m waiting on. The Body Shop manager is big time car-dealery guy named Steve, and I feel like I’m in the waiting room of a dentist office with a broken tooth. The news he’s about to deliver can’t be good…and Cryface McFlatBrim is probably buying another hat that he’s too old to pull off with the money he should be sending my bumper’s way. I’m gonna shoot him a text while I wait (I did get his phone number, Dad.)
I’ll wrap up this story on tomorrow’s blog. (This is a supes profesh thingy called a “tease”).
OUR LIFE:
I want to write about why early-March is the worst time of year, but my brain is currently locked up in a self-loathing death spiral because I trusted that crying guy who hit my car. Whenever I’m able to momentarily block that out, I’m hit with a digestional/morning-coffee issue that is not meant to be resolved in a Chevrolet dealership. (I HANDLE ADVERSITY WITH APLOMB!)
So…uh…March stinks cuz it’s a total tease and I’m tired of wearing jackets that make me look puffy. (No joke, my stomach just made an old-timey, British police siren sound. Right now, my inner-self is making an ugly cry face while saying “I just can’t” over and over again).
I just can’t, guys.
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
I very much wish this was the guy driving behind me this morning.
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
Guys over 50 who wear flat-brim hats can go straight to hell.
MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:
Oh yay, now I get to relive another kick to my nuts. I bet on South Carolina (-2.5) last night against Ole Miss. SC was up 4…until Ole Miss hit a meaningless 3 at the buzzer for a backdoor cover. Cool God, fun joke. I have yet to pick a winner on this blog which is amazing. Seriously, it’s amazing. If I was TRYING to lose 8 picks in a row, I couldn’t do it. Therefore, I have decided that naming this section “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN” is a jinx. Thus, I am renaming this section to “MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENIUNELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE”
Today, I’m on Virginia, SMU and Boston College against the spread.
(My account currently at $34.28)
K bye.
Jimmy's Chair 