(Written earlier today)

lsI am waiting for the mechanic or somebody like him, sitting in the service section of the Hyundai dealership. The Elantra is getting some routine matters addressed. Usually these vehicle-villains show up fifteen minutes later after I drop off the car, looking vexed and shaking their heads, and announce they’ve discovered some gizmo needs repair or replacement, making the estimated bill increase ten-fold. My one consolation is the entire work force are quite handsome. They are a heart-warming spectacle.

I can’t escape the TV in the waiting room, which seems to be mostly commercials to sell gadgets I didn’t know I needed to make life better. The others face forward watching the boob-tube while Urs Truly faces them (my back to the TV) surveying the land as I look over the top of my Mac.

One of my pet peeves in life is ‘forced entertainment” viz. TVs on in waiting rooms where you can not escape. There is a redolence of ‘1984” to it.

Apart from the tyranny of the television, the Hyundai handsomes have put some thought into their media-torture chamber. There is a little playroom for the tots. Free coffee and doughnuts are available. If these are not fancied, there are several food dispensers.  Thems wanting the internet get free wi-fi and there are plenty of outlets for phones. Indeed, most of the costumers watching TV are on their phones.

It’s’ an ill wind that blows nobody good. If I am to wait I brought along a briefcase of paperwork and similar tasks – and I get to write this blog entry.

Someone texted me wondering how’s it going. I replied it is waiting for Godot but so far no one has sprung up ala Spring-Heeled Jack with a part in his hands advisingv replacement  for a small fortune. Someone says in his text a fellow named Austin had just texted him by mistake; he is my contact for any questions. I was about to rise in a quest to locate the lad when lo! Mr. Austin appeared out of nowhere. He explained all went well and there were no surprises – and no charge for it was all under warranty. I was out by five minutes.

I am thankful for Mr. Austin and his sleuth of bear mechanics for taking good care of my car and allowing me to engage in harmless but scurrilous thoughts.  Just next time no Fox News, please.