Lake Wobegone Style Trust

I waltz into the mechanic’s dingy-gray, grease-smeared office today at 3:55 with 5 minutes left before closing. I figure open is open, right, as long as the open sign is in the window. And, it is.

“Um, m’am, I don’t even have a bill written up yet.” The guy behind the desk looks a little bit like a redneck Santa Claus wearing a very dirty, billed cap. His fingernails are black enough to be full of chimney soot.

Hmmmm. I think to myself, well, a bill for this little job - will it take one minute or two to write up a bill? “Would you rather I come back in the morning? I found a neighbor to bring me down here before you closed, and I wanted the car first thing tomorrow, so I thought I’d come and get it…”

“You can take the car now, and just stop sometime tomorrow and pay.”

WHAT? I’m stunned. Take the car? Without paying?

“But can’t I just pay you NOW, and have this all done?” (Does he want his money or not??)

“I guess I can write up the bill…”

Um yes, I would think so. What if I decided to be a jerk, Santa? And didn’t show up and pay you in the morning? Then you’d have to chase me down, or else go unpaid. I mean really, it makes no sense AT ALL to not get paid RIGHT NOW. But I try to be polite. “Well, if there’s not time to write the bill I can come back…”

The blackened fingers grab appropriate carbon-layered papers. It takes him one minute and forty-seven seconds to fill them out. I write the check, which is for much less than I’d expected it to be. It is now 3:59.

“Thank you so much,” I say, amazed that his charges are so reasonable, and pleased that he didn’t end up working overtime because of me after all.

“Key’s in the car – thank you, m’am.”

I close the door and walk through a drizzly rain to my car, expecting the key to be above the visor or under the mat. Instead, it is sticking out of the ignition in plain sight. ANYONE could have hopped in and driven off to never-never-land. But then again, anyone like WHO? We’re talking about a business that’s smaller than a small-town business…I mean this is a teeny weeny village-with-no-stop-sign-business. There’s no one around, and if they were, they wouldn’t be excited about ripping off a guy like Santa.