God has a sense of humor. 

I’ve always known this and, actually, I’ve witnessed it firsthand several times. Take for example yesterday. After an entire day of yelling, hissy-fitting, crying and basically being a two-year-old on the phone and in person to my dealer about (repeatedly) fixing various problems with my car, I got a call that it was “all ready” for pickup.  Being the doubting Thomas that I am, I pressed the service consultant to make sure he fixed something called a “transfer case” near my front right tire. This was, after all, what my mobile mechanic, having arrived on Sunday morning, jacked the car up and thoroughly inspected its underbody, told me was wrong and hence the error messages being displayed on the dashboard. Despite this information, the indifferent and increasingly annoyed consultant told me that there was nothing wrong with the transfer case and that he could show it to me to prove it. Great, except I have no clue on what a transfer case is—I know how to transfer a case, though that’s clearly inapplicable—and I have no desire to look at the underbelly of my car. That’s why I pay you guys for—I told him! Silly me—I must have wrongly assumed that if I bring my nice car to the dealer that he would fix whatever was wrong with it, especially because he’d ultimately charge me my entire two week salary to do so.

At any rate, consultant Omar was adamant that there was nothing wrong other than a mere oil sensor. Blah, Blah, Blah. He ignored every word that I said just as I ignored his stoicism. Notwithstanding that fact and being quite the pms-ing snot, I gave him sass about how his particular repair shop has terrible reviews on yelp, that people warn about coming in with an issue, specifying exactly what’s wrong with the car and leaving with not having it fixed at all. And on and on I went. Omar continued to smack his gum loudly into the phone.

Arriving at the dealer to pick up my car, I was, needless to say, in  a tiff. They did little or nothing and I thought I knew better and  was going to unleash a can of nasty on them. Well, God clearly  had enough of my shenanigans. I pulled in to the dealer with the  loaner and tried to get out of the car with great effect and instead  fell flat on my face. Bruised and scraped and etc, I was lucky not  to have knocked my teeth out, or broke a heel. No one laughed  —though, I deserved it.

I’ve actually had these tastes of God’s sense of humor quite  often. Usually it’s followed after I’ve run my mouth off at  someone and then I bite my tongue or stub my toe or just fall flat on my face. You’d think one day I’d learn my lesson….