IPW

Greasemonkeys

Some have been rather vocal in their complaints about the irregularity of this blog. I'll take this as a compliment since it is rare that people demand more of things they dislike (More stinky feet please). I have been busy but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking of you four, and of things that might need to be imparted.

For instance, my Dad was out here for the second time last weekend. It was a blast, and I think he got a good taste for what daily living in NY is like. That is to say, we ran into a little trouble while renting a car to take a drive in the country one day. I really should do an actual illustration of the mayhem that was the Alamo Rental garage last Sunday but that might just take much too much time. Also, I had my fill of illustrating today, drawing some imaginarily delicious caramel cascading over the lip of an imaginary bowl. So delicious did it look that I was inspired to eat much candy from the candy bowls dotted around the office, post Halloween overstock. I haven't bitten into any syringes yet, but I'll maybe wish I had in 15 years when my teeth have rotted to brown nubbins. I digress. We took our time getting to the rental place on 12th street since it wasn't a holiday and it was a Sunday, we figured, hey, who wants a car today! Problem 1 in NYC is this: if something is worth doing, at all, there will be a line to do it. This is a hard and fast rule we should have remembered. We even stood in line to get into the Polish Consulate the other night for a show of contemporary Polish art. Now Poland, Polish Art, Polish Consulates are all great, but who would have expected a line to get in? There were serving some delicious, and free, vodka, but who would have expected that? Okay, I guess that shouldn't have taken much imagination. Anyway, I digress further. If you want to do it, you will have to wait until at least ten other people do it first. Done. So, sure enough there was a line out the door of the tiny office inside of the parking garage. There were three computer stations in the office, with one woman working them. My Dad at first speculated that she was taking her sweet time, a reasonable thought as we watched one of the greasemonkeys walk by eating a croissant. It turned out though, that she was one of the most efficient workers on the planet, answering phones, processing payments, taking returns and, most importantly to us, figuring out how to conjure cars out of thin air in order to fill the reservations of the people in line. This was multi-tasking at it's finest, and she kept fairly cheerful too. In fact, everyone in line was cheerful. We couldn't figure out why, although we were laughing along with everyone else. Maybe it was the patent absurdity of trying to run a car rental company when there were visibly no cars to rent. Occasionally, someone would return a car, they keys immediately passed to the next family in line. When a car was by chance returned, the greasemonkeys would slouch into action. They would drop their croissants and jump into the driver's seat, put the accelerator to the floor, and burn rubber diagonally across the 15 foot garage. They moved the cars with such precision, and at such breathtaking speeds that you almost forgot that there was no reason at all to hit speeds exceeding 35 miles an hour for less that two and a half seconds, moving a total of 5 feet from point a to point b. One couple, having rented the one remaining vehicle, stood watching that vehicle which was on the other side of the garage, about 15 feet away, for 10 minutes, until the greasemonkey deemed it agreeable to his digestion to get up, squeeze behind the wheel, and whip across the oil covered cement floor in a harmony of four squealing tires, each hitting its pitch like circular members of a rubber barber shop quartet. When the dust settled the couple was standing slightly closer to their car than they had been, only now they were coated by a thin film of grime and were too frightened to scream.

But the rest of us poor slobs, who hadn't been graced with a vehicle, all were thrilled by the behavior of the attendants. Like anytime you watch someone defy all logic with skillful precision, you simply can't look away. The customers behind us were laughing and joking and making bets on when we would get to the front of the line. I bet a half an hour, fortunately a gentleman's bet since after an hour all I had to lose was my gentlemanliness. That gone, we finally rented our car which had been returned by a surly Frenchman just minutes before. We asked the multi-tasking woman if this scene was a common occurrence and she said yes, every Saturday and Sunday. We asked if she didn't think it was a little poorly operated and she replied with a classic New York response:

"It is what it is."

Finally all three of us jumped into a stack of tires as our car peeled out in front of us and rocked to a standstill just feet from where it started. We piled in and waved to those who had the bad luck to be behind us in line, but with whom we shared the common bond of have stood around in a dark, oily garage on a beautiful Sunday morning, burning valuable daylight while watching what can be only described as an automotive shell-game.

We drove far and wide through the Hudson River valley, surrounded by majestic Manor Houses and golden autumnal trees, but none of really forgot the scene we felt lucky to have escaped from. There were several traffic incidents that required some quick action, New Yorker style. By the end of the day my Dad paid me a compliment, perhaps the finest compliment a father could give his son. It went something like, "There were times I thought I was driving with one of the Alamo garage attendants."

If I'd been a little less weary from the exhausting excursion I might have thought to reply:

"It is what it is."

Posted by ian at November 2, 2006 11:07 PM