Tuesday, January 6, 2009

tranny uncanny

The other day, a co-worker told me she broke her “tranny” out of the garage.

Trannies are good to have around, she said, and perform better in the cold weather. I had no idea Jamestown was open-minded enough for double-gendered population but I’m glad Jamestownians consider them such hearty workers. When I asked where one goes to find a quality tranny and if you ever get jealous because they look better in your clothes than you do, my co-worker looked at me like I myself had sprouted male parts. She said she was talking about her transmission drive and that I should have figured that out by now. I still don’t know what a transmission drive is, but I guess I’ll be leaving my wanna-be-woman in the closet where she belongs.

This is the first time I’ve humiliated myself while writing about how I humiliated myself. So keep reading.

Since I live in the smallest town in the country next to Manchester, Iowa and Arnold, Nebraska, it’s not uncommon to run into people you know. Today, as I sat in an off-the-grocery store breakfast restaurant filling myself with eggs, sausage and pre-buttered toast waiting for the service station to refill my oil, I ran into a woman who coordinates various volunteer programs in town. She says hello, what are you doing up so early? Surely, she can’t remember me, I think, answering politely but taking my seat. I interviewed her once, and that was months ago. Suddenly, she’s hovered over me, reading my screen.

Say Katie (YES she remembered my name and YES they start sentences with say here), what kind of computer (pause) you got (pause) it’s cute (pause) small (pause) huh... her voice trailing.

Oh my god.

Of all the people and all the things I could be writing at 8 a.m., this right-hand-a’-Jesus is reading my tranny story with a raised eyebrow taking back any goodwill she once had towards me.

Apparently, I’m not the only person here with alternate definitions for the vehicular nickname.

Update- After an hour for breakfast, 30 minutes for grocery shopping and a cab ride home, the service station has yet to start oiling my car. Now, as auto-tech professionals, they should know that withholding a person's vehicle, especially in the dead of winter, is frankly, really mean. You couldn't have told me at 7:45 this morning to stay home because you wouldn't get to my vehicle until NOON? You waited an hour and a half until I called you to break the news? Now I've eaten a $10 breakfast, need two $10 cab rides to get back and forth, don't have time to go to the gym, could have slept in (since I left work at midnight last night) AND I could have written my tranny blog from the privacy of my over-crowded apartment avoiding the jaw drop of a pre-humounsly-nominated saint.

I guess I should look on the bright side, weatherman says temps should reach above zero today.

Is it Friday yet?

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