My New BFF

I had to take my car in for its state inspection today. I always wait until the last possible minute, so getting it done on Dec. 29th is a HUGE improvement from when I used to beg them to take me on Dec. 31st. Normally I take the car over to the Goodyear on Three Chopt (I have no clue why) but I decided to stay in the city this time, mostly because if there was something really wrong with the car, whoever had to pick my ass up and take my ass home wouldn't have to drive very far to get said ass anywhere.

So, I took it to Ferguson Autosomethingorother. I took it there because I found it on the Internets and it was on a street that I knew. Little did I know that I would find my new best friend sitting just inside.

This little slice of heaven sits between Broad and Clay Streets (two places known for their classiness) among several other automotive repair/parts establishments. As soon as I walked in I knew I had made the right choice. First of all, there was a huge plaque showing that this very place had been named by Richmond Magazine (a.k.a. the River City Consumer's Bible) for being on of the best mechanics in town. Seriously, Henry Ford himself could have come back from the grave and pointed his bony, rotted, crumbly finger at the place croaking "Don't go in there!!!!!" and I would have gestured to the Richmond Magazine with a smirk on my face - I mean, he was from Michigan, what does he know?

Anyway, after settling in and finding out that Mr. Bill Ferguson, owner and manager of the shop, could not let "such a nice lady" (that would be me) leave the premises without new brake pads. After calling me a nice lady, he could have told me that my bigdaddymackerator needed a new cylindrical cup cap and I would have believed him and handed over my credit card to pay for the job. But no, new brake pads just needed to be located and installed, a process that ended up taking longer than Bill would have liked. However, if it hadn't taken so long, Bill and I wouldn't be as close as we are today.

Our chatting started with Bill barking random questions at me such as, "So how tall are you, anyway?" as if it were something I had been go on and on about, because, you know, I'm huge. He also asked me if I like to cook, where I went to high school, if I had given my mother any grandbabies yet, what my husband did for a living, what I did for a living (notice which one he asked first), and whether or not I like computers. I answered the last question with an affirmative nod and a shrug. And that's when the magic happened. Bill spent about 45 minutes showing me all of the "crazy" forwards that his daughter-in-law had sent him, as well as pictures from his son's wedding in which he kept pointing out the 6'11" bridesmaide who was from the "Ukraine or one of those crazy Eastern European countries where the ladies get real big." He also told me that if I was ever around at 10:00am the "oriental vendor woman" from down the street would be by with what the guys at his shop call the "CHINK TRUCK" in case I wanted a snack. Yeah, you read correctly.

All in all I ended up waiting for 4 hours for everything to get done. Ross road up at around 11 so we could go to Hardee's for lunch (I know, I went to the gym for 1 1/2 hours after I got home to make up for it in my mind). By noon everything was done and Bill and I bid farewell until next December. Needless to say, it was an eventful/fun morning. Except for the whole racial slur thing.