I hate feeling stupid, or more specifically, being perceived as stupid. Call it vanity. My recent trip to Jiffy Lube is a case in point. I went in for an oil change and came away questioning my cognitive abilities.
First, I misread the hand signals of the guy attempting to direct me into the right spot. I very nearly drove my great white whale of a van into the pit. Next, because I was embarrassed, I struggled to locate the hood pop. Oops, that was the gas tank. Best of all, I tried to take the keys with me into the waiting rom. “Ma’am, we’re going to need those.” Ugh. By the time I got to the obligatory, “Would you like to replace your air filter for $29.99?” I was a hot mess. I stood stock-still for probably 30 seconds trying to decide if I really needed a new one or if I was being scammed because I’d come off as an idiot.
This is exactly why I normally let my husband Doo handle the things that are outside my comfort zone – car and tech stuff, for starters, but also the boring big-ticket house items like HVAC, siding and the god-awful plumbing. I want to be seen as a strong, capable, intelligent woman, but whenever I have to talk to the contractor about electrical issues or to the aforementioned automotive people about my transmission, I get nervous and end up sounding like a do-do head.
But why do I even care? I am stupid when it comes to cars. I just don’t want Derek at Jiffy Lube thinking this! Yep, pure vanity.
Peace out.
