Life is Complicated + Crocs
So there I am, sitting in an auto mechanic’s office in Ashland City, TN, watching a car restoration show with a white, country dude in a Blue Lives Matter hat. We are watching with J.T., the Black business owner, and we are tore up that the wooden wheels of the 1918 Ford have rotted and that they would have to reform the wheels without a workable mold to go on (the metal has rusted out beyond repair).
An old man pops in the back door breathing heavily and I am the only one wearing a mask. “Hi Mr. Cliff,” using Mister, even though he himself is a grown man. “OH hey,” says Mr. Cliff, who is asking about a transmission for a 2012 vehicle that his grandaughter drives.
“Mr. Transmission will do it for you,” says J.T., “but all they’re going to do is go to the dealership and get a rebuilt transmission and install it and charge you about $3600 for it. I don’t know anybody in town that can do it really. But I’ve known that old guy a long time, so call up there and mention my name.” “Bye, Mr. Cliff.” “Bye.”
J.T. walks to the door and back and says that, in his opinion, “it ain’t worth putting no $3500 transmission in a 2012 but that’s him.”
A woman comes in in high heels which is unexpected at 8:00AM on a rainy Monday during COVID and asks about the gold truck. “Do you need something out of it,” says J.T. “No, I was just wondering where it was. Cody didn’t want it parked out on the street and I didn’t see it.” “________(name I didn’t catch) took it to his garage at home,” said J.T., “He’s working on it there. It’s about 5 min away.” “Alright,” she said, and clomps by. By then, the whole room smelled like cigs.
On the TV, the auto restorer pulled into a drive-in restaurant that they ONLY have in my home town, and I hollered out from beneath my mask, “OMG that’s where I’m from. That’s my hometown.” And then we talked about Doumars and if guy on the show’s wife would like the black Camaro he refurbed for her (I think NOT because he put HORRIBLE pink flames on it). Then, my brake pads are done and I stand up to pay.
“I never seen no high heeled Crocs,” said Blue Lives Matter. “Hahah they’re so stupid, aren’t they?” I said.
And somehow we all had CROCS and we all talked about our Crocs and how they really are, “So great,” and how glad I was to have found a reliable mechanic and Hat says, “J.T., here, runs the best shop in town.”
And I walked out into the drizzling rain thinking about just how daggone complicated everything is and wondering if the Camaro-restorer’s old lady liked that beautiful paint job with the horrible pink flames.