I think I own the only car lot in Florida that is closed on the weekends. I figure if I can’t get the job done during the week, it’s not going to get done. I get a lot of complaints though. They usually go something like this:
“Who do I complain to about your hours?”
“You can complain to me. I’m here for you. Now, when you get back from your test drive, if you want to buy this car, just park it over there in the sold row.”
“Do you know everyone else is open on Saturday and Sunday? Those are the only two days I can shop for a car. This is very inconvenient for the consumer.”
Every complaint I get about my hours is from some guy on the lot complaining that he can only shop on the weekends. And yet, here he is, middle of the week, bitching his head off.
“Sir, I know, you work your ass off all week and you only have the weekends to relax, unwind, spend some time with your family and maybe shop for a car. After all, how often do you buy a new car?”
“My point exactly, the weekends are my only time off and I only buy a car about every 4 years.”
“So what you are saying is you want me to give up every one of my weekends for the next 4 years until you are ready to buy another car?”
That usually shuts them up. Anyway, it’s Saturday and, all things considered, I feel pretty good. My small radish friend looks a little wilty though. I’ve heard that it’s not the alcohol but the mix in a cocktail that gives you the hangover. This guy drank about a cup of sugar last night. I don’t know how he feels, but he’s looking pretty rough.
“Rise and shine Ed! The world awaits us! If you want to soar with the eagles you have to get up with the chickens!”
“Sam… my electrolytes are out of balance. Also, what should be going up my phloem is going down my xylem and I’m losing turgidity.”
I don’t have a green thumb and I have no clue as to what he just said, but I’ve had lots of experience with hangovers.
“Hang in there buddy. This should help.”
If he lives through this, and this relationship blossoms, (no pun intended) I might just get him his own coffee cup.
“Yes…I’m getting back…my…equilibrium. Thank you.”
I’m impressed. He still has that poolroom pallor, but his leaves are perking up. I’ll get us both another cup of coffee and move him out on the veranda. He looks like he could use some sun and I need a smoke.
“There ya go, Ed! Nice cup of Colombian java… little morning sun…you should be back to, whatever you consider normal, in no time.”
“Colombian java? Sam, have you ever heard of the Colombian Ancestor?”
Of course. I should have picked up on it right away. This radish is involved with a drug cartel.
(To be continued)