If only we could walk everywhere.  Pausing to gaze at the sky, survey the prickly grass, feel the hot air gently stroking our cheek.  A man can walk and know what is going on.  All the moving parts are inside him.  He can feel when he is hungry, know when he is tired, and wince when he is hurt.  But we sprawled, across the continents, across the globe, like the splatter from a paint can dropped suddenly from a ladder.  Walking was no longer sufficient.  We turned to animals, and eventually, to machines.  Now, we scurry about in metallic pods.  Our land is criss-crossed by ribbons of thick cement.  Transportation is inflicted upon us by the necessity of geography.  We all make our way to that dentist’s office of demolition, the Dealership.

You pull in with your car.  You can smell the grease and the sleaze.  The recycled air is filled with the regrets, frustrations, and anxieties of a waiting people.  They all are waiting for the same thing-that magic number.  Oh your (blank) was corroded and your (blank) needs adjusting and there is a mandatory (blank) charge for all that (blanking).  It’s like Russian roulette, except there is always a  little something-something in the chamber.  Perhaps, I am wrong.  Perhaps, when all the employees woke up that morning they were thinking about you.  They were thinking about the best possible ways to save you money and maximize services.  Perhaps some were, yes.  But I don’t think everyone was.  A dealership is a mechanism.  Without people, it is an unoccupied force.  But it will populate; it will attract.  Things will be put into motion.  Can you hear it, humming, sliding, rolling into being?  But at least you have your warranty.  Everything will be covered.  Right? Right? Hello? The timing belt!  NOOO!

Important Note:  The dealership that prompted this piece has now been removed from my life.  My new dealership is just dandy.

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