I cope with stress really, really well. So when the tow truck guy didn’t believe that our address was correct, I handled it with grace and aplomb.
“I’m standing in front of a sign that says I’m at 325 Huntington Ave.” I told him. “Is your guy standing in front of a sign that says he’s at 325 Huntington Ave.?”
The tow truck driver said that he was.
“Well, then we’ve got some kind of a problem, because I don’t know what other address to give you. I mean, if they’re just going to start posting signs with fictious addresses on them, then I guess we’re all just hopelessly lost, aren’t we?”
I’m going to spare you the play by play. Here’s the summary: we went back and forth for quite some time, as I got more irate, and he got more patronizing, and finally, I used the F word.
Don’t ever use the F word with a tow truck driver. You might as well strap on your sneakers and start walking home.
Three hours later, when the tow truck driver arrived, I had wept away all my anger and was prepared to wash and wax his truck if he’d just fix the tire. Not that I had to wash and wax anything, because it was pouring out. POURING. My coat smells like a drunk lama and my hair is STILL frizzy.
Oh, and the sign I was standing in front of? Was wrong. Let this be a lesson to you all. When you think you’re most right, you’re probably dead wrong.