Selective Psycho

So, I like to think that I'm a pretty normal, level headed guy; who's led a pretty normal, level headed life.  Except for that time when I was seven years old and my Mom thought I was crazy.

In performing some later life self psychoanalysis, I determined that I had encountered a mild case of OCD, even though there was no name for it in 1959.  While other kids my age were worried about a hydrogen bomb being dropped on their heads, I was worried that I couldn't go to sleep until I had opened and closed my closet door EXACTLY 40 times.  Fortunately, I grew out of it.

And, I think I've been okay since then ... until just recently.  Yesterday, I posted some nonsense about my truck being in the shop again.  Although I appeared to be taking it lightly, it was really eating at my guts.

Why?  Because I CAN'T STAND HAVING A MOTOR VEHICLE THAT IS NOT RUNNING CORRECTLY.


I can be in extreme pain, have my leg almost cut off by a chain saw, incur brain damage ... and I will not go to the doctor.  But if one of my vehicles emits even the slightest squeak, moan or odd noise, I'm on the phone to the repair shop within 30 seconds.

Yesterday, I paced back in forth, waiting for the call from the Firestone guys to tell me what was wrong with my truck.  And then the call came ...

Repair Guy:  Hey Rob!

Me:  YES ... YES ...  What's WRONG!

Repair Guy:  Nothing.

Me:  What do you mean, NOTHING!

Repair Guy:  There's nothing wrong with your truck.  You can come pick it up.

Me:  Huh?

Repair Guy:  Come on over and pick it up ... no charge.

Me:  Oh, okay.

Jan drove me over, and I felt very sheepish when we arrived, because I felt like the boy who had cried wolf, and I had made these poor guys take their time to look at my truck when there was nothing wrong with it.  So naturally, I tried to make Jan go in and get the keys ...

Jan:  Uh, uh buddy.  I told you there was nothing wrong with it.

Me:  But ...

Jan:  Uh, uh.  Go in and admit your shame.

Me:  Shit.

I guess this type of behavior would be excusable if it only happened once in a while, but a couple of weeks ago, when I had Jan's car in for new brakes before we took the trip to Missouri, the repair guy told me about a possible problem:

Repair Guy:  Hi Rob, you're all set to go.  One little thing though ...

Me:  WHAT!

Repair Guy:  Your radiator looks kind of iffy in places, but I don't think it will be a problem.  Besides, those things cost an arm and and leg, so go ahead and take your trip and don't worry about it.  Just check it when you stop for gas and look at the temperature gauge once in a while.

Me:  WHAT!

Repair Guy:  Don't worry about it.  Have a nice trip.

The next day, Jan and I left on our trip.  I made it a mental point to check the temperature gauge as much as I checked the rear and side view mirrors.  When I-55 becomes I-44 in St. Louis, the powers that be cut rumble strips into both sides of the double lanes ... just to  make sure you would wake up before you plunged off the road into some valley.

And, somewhere in Missouri ...

RUUUUMMMMMMMBBBLLLLLE!


Jan:  Geez Rob, that's about the 47th time you've hit one of those rumble strips.

Me:  I know, I keep looking at the temperature gauge.

Jan:  Well, look at the road in front of you once in a while.  Let's see what you're looking at ...

Me:  What are you doing?

Jan:  Looking at the temperature gauge.

Me:  Well, it looks like you're giving me a blow job.

Jan:  Look, pull over and I'll drive.

Me:  Then I'll be leaning over and looking at the temperature gauge and I'll look like I'm giving you a blow job.

Jan:  I don't think they call it that.  Just drive and look at the road, will you.

And as it turned out, we finished our trip without losing one drop of radiator fluid.  This morning we were in a shopping center parking lot, when an SUV pulled past us, squeaking to high heaven.  I told Jan that the woman needed to change her fan belt, stat.  Jan told me to shut up.

I'm okay.  Really ... I'm okay.