As I pulled into the dealership to have my car serviced last week I automatically reached out and turned the volume on my radio off. I suppose so the service guys wouldn’t have to listen to my Sirius CNN at mega volume to compensate for my deafness. After all, I drive alone most times so my cable news addiction can remain my secret. But then again, there’s the time I lost the Vagina Monologues.
A few years ago before I headed out on a 9 hour road trip south I stocked up on audio books from my local library. I was a regular patron of the library and took advantage of their great selection not only of current bestsellers but also the selection of compact discs with music and audio books and with the Vagina Monologues hot in hand, I hit the road.
Listening to the first hour of the CD I heard frank talk about our lady parts. Talk so descriptive it was only missing the little coloured take-apart model pieces in the gynaecologist’s office. Causally describing the glories of the “vijayjay” as the timid might say. I was trying to be appreciative of the literary aspect of the work but felt a little squirmy and no, not in that way. I follow Jenny Lawson, The Bloggess faithfully so nothing really shocks me but it was weird to hear the stuff said out loud over the car speakers.
My car started slowing down, losing power. I stopped by the side of the road and called Mark who said to limp in to the dealership in the next town where he used to work and we knew the staff so well. We’d worked with and partied with the crew as a big weird fun-loving family group for years before we moved away.
Greeted with hugs and smiles, I turned my car over to the service guys. Grabbing my purse to run out for a coffee, I quickly ejected the CD and tucked it in the case. Over the years I’ve known those service guys to rock it out in the shop to customers’ music; to come out singing with a country twang or head-banging flipping hair with some good metal tunes. All thanks to the customers. Probably not supposed to say that, but yes, it did happen.
Fuel pump changed and a send off with more hugs from everyone, I was back on the road. Finishing my coffee and back in the zen of the drive, I opened the CD case to pick up where I left off. To my horror the case was empty. Empty. Instantly I knew. I knew the guys had been listening to what to them probably sounded like a windfall of “get over here you gotta hear this stuff” at the very least. I knew they had my CD.
There was no way I was going back to ask for my Vagina Monologues. No way. “By the way guys, do you have my CD describing all the marvels of the female part most of you have much to learn about?
Yeah, no way. I kept driving
When I got home I responsibly went to the library and told the librarian I’d lost the Vagina Monologues and would pay for it. I want to say it was my imagination that I saw a faint smile at the corner of her mouth and the tiny scrinch of a wink as she told me that they see me all the time and they wouldn’t ask me to pay for it as she made a notation in her big book.
Months later my favourite lipstick bounced off the console and fell, rolling around under my feet before it disappeared under my seat. Squatting down, fishing under the driver’s seat I felt it. The Vagina Monologues had been riding along with me all that time right under me as if to say “I got your…well … you know what, sister”.