As if shelling out waaaay too much money for brake service wasn’t bad enough, I had to end my visit to the local auto shop on an extremely awkward note today.

Keep in mind as you read this that the extent of my bonding experience with the guy who worked on my car was this:
Him: “What do you need?”
Me: “My brakes are screeching.”
Him: “OK. That will be lots of dollars, please.”

Nah, I’m kidding. He didn’t say please. Anyway, I’m waiting at the counter as he runs my credit card, and the TV is playing a rerun of “I Love Lucy.”

Him: “You know what’s weird about her?”
Me (taken aback by the sudden, random attempt at small talk after he’s already secured my money): “What?”
Him: “You know how when you’re like walking down the street and looking at girls, you’re always thinking about what position you’d have sex with them in? Like, oh man I’d do her doggy style or whatever?”
Me: “…Uh, yeah, sure…”
Him: “When I see her, I don’t think about that at all. It’s not that she’s not attractive or anything, I just don’t see her like that.”
Me: “Um, yeah. She’s wholesome.”

Awkward pause.

Me: “But I’m sure someone thinks about that when they look at Lucy.”
Him: “You think so?”
Me: “Definitely. I mean, it’s not that crazy. I’m sure someone’s into her. She’s a good looking girl.”
Him: “Yeah, you know, you’re right. OK here’s your receipt.”
Me (to myself): “Thank you God.”