6. Law
6
Law
Flirting in This Economy
G reta’s reaction when she found out that the cost of the parts to fix her car was only a third of the total estimate the shop had given her will live in my head forever.
She was ready to burn the whole place to the ground.
The only thing that calmed her down was when I assured her that I could definitely do the work and asked, “Can you afford the parts? Because that’s all that matters right now.”
Once she accepted that, her mood improved considerably. I slipped the youngest mechanic in the garage twenty bucks to help me push her car into the drugstore parking lot next door so their customers wouldn’t see me working on it in front of their shop.
His boss let it happen, primarily to get Greta out of there, I’m sure. Not that I’m going to tell her that.
“How did you know you could make a side deal like that?” she asks, sitting on the tailgate of my truck with her legs swinging in the breeze while she watches me work on her car.
“It’s not a side deal to buy the parts and do the work yourself. You weren’t going to pay them to do it, anyway, so it’s not like I undercut them to get the job. There was no job in it for them to begin with.”
“But I didn’t even buy the parts from them. Why weren’t they mad that we went to the auto parts store, bought the parts, and then just took my car away?”
“Because they don’t need your car taking up space if you’re not a paying customer. They’re not hurting for business over there.”
“Then they should lower their prices. They’re robbing people.”
“They’re not running a charity, Greta. That’s just the way it is.”
“Well, it sucks.”
“That’s life.”
“It shouldn’t have to be, though. What kind of a world do we live in when a teacher can’t even afford to get her car fixed?”
“Hey, look. There’s a cardinal in that oak tree.”
I don’t disagree with her, but there’s nothing I can do to repair late-stage Capitalism while I’m losing daylight in this parking lot, and I don’t want her to get upset again. One, she’s a little scary when she gets wound up, but two, it sounds like she’s had a rotten run of luck lately.
“I don’t see it.”
“Huh. I guess it flew away. Maybe it saw me looking at it.”
“There was no cardinal, was there? You just wanted me to shut up.”
“No, there wasn’t a cardinal. But I didn’t want you to shut up so much as I just didn’t want you to be upset.”
“Nothing ever changes until somebody gets upset enough to do something about it.”
“Okay. What’s your big plan for lowering the cost of car repairs?”
“I hear having a big TV can sometimes get you a discount.”
I look up from under her hood to smile at her. “For the record, the TV might not be your only bargaining chip.”
“Oh, right. The chips. I forgot about the value of those.”
Her smile almost looks a little flirty. I guess we have an inside joke now. That didn’t take long. I’m never going to look at a bag of chips again without thinking about her.
“Ow! Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” She hops down from my tailgate in a panic.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Wrench slipped. That’s what I get for not paying attention.”
“I distracted you. I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“It’s just a busted knuckle. I’m fine.”
And you can distract me any time.
If I said that out loud, she’d probably lower this hood on my head. And I can’t keep an eye on her and attach these wires at the same time, so it’s probably safer if I keep my inside thoughts inside.
It takes less than half an hour to swap out the parts. The repair quote really was highway robbery, but I’m not going to bring it up again.
“Moment of truth,” I say, motioning for her to get behind the wheel. “Start her up.”
Her car hums to life. “You did it!”
“Looks that way. See you at seven.”
“What’s happening at seven?”
“The Giants are playing the Dodgers.”
“I thought your team was the Astros.”
“They are my team. But the leagues play each other, so you gotta keep up with everybody.”
“There’s more than one league?”
“The MLB has two leagues, and each league has three divisions. Did we negotiate game-time snacks?”
“I’ll provide chips. If you want anything else, you’re on your own.”
Oh, I definitely want something else. I already knew I was on my own, though.
Shower sex is undeniably a lot more fun with a partner, but that’s life. And until I get upset enough to do something about it, nothing’s going to change.
At least I get chips.
If she gets the good ones, I’m going to count it as flirting.