If this were a short story, it would be funny, poignant...

So, last Saturday, I dropped the car off at the service repair shop. I convinced a dear friend to pick me up at the shop and take me out for the day. All of this happened before 9 am. ON A SATURDAY.

I dropped the car off. I left the shop. I got to a coffee shop. My phone rang.

They had the wrong color replacement mirror.

I bitched and moaned and shrieked and wailed. And, at the end of the day, I wound up shuffling around my schedule to get back to the shop. I gave up my work from home day and made it a work from the car shop day.

Which was today.

An hour and a half into my waiting time, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Um, Miss Miller?"

This time, they'd ordered the wrong size.

What was miraculous about all of this: I did NOT flip out. I did NOT scream. I did NOT get mad. I DID laugh. A lot. Out loud.

What are you going to do? They didn't have the mirror. I couldn't make them have the mirror. The woman who was helping me was not at fault. And she was cute. And she caught my dropped hint that this weekend was Pride Weekend in Boston. (Ding ding ding ding). This now means I will be forced (ha!) to not go into the office for either a morning or a day. And, of course, it means that they're going to eat the labor costs.

So, every cloud, silver lining, yadda yadda yadda. It still means I have to spend ANOTHER day in the waiting room of a car service shop. Fun.