Unlikeable. It was the same word in every rejection from a woman, on each evaluation at work, at the bottom of all my\u00a0report cards in school. No matter how well I performed, my social skills were\u2014in a word\u2014non-existent.<\/p>\n
God knows I tried. I read self-help books. I attended seminars. I even found a woman in New England who still taught an old-fashioned charm school, aimed at instilling budding young debutants with the social graces. And yet, though I understood how to be likable, my mind could never grasp why.<\/p>\n
It seemed an unnecessary show\u2014something one did to garner the approval of others. I never needed external validation. I didn\u2019t see the need to placate those precious flowers whose feelings were hurt because I refused to coddle them. Why couldn\u2019t they just accept facts as facts?<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Mrs. Robinson, your car is a complete piece of shit<\/span> has had some engine trouble. In the past six years, you never changed the oil on time<\/span> your car has had a lot of miles on it. It\u2019s your fault.<\/span> These things happen. Now you\u2019re going to pay through the nose.<\/span>\u00a0We\u2019ll see what we can do.\u201d<\/p>\n I guess that\u2019s why I like cars. They don\u2019t get pissed when you bleed the lines. They don\u2019t hold a grudge when you pound out a dent in the fender. They don\u2019t take it personal when you give up on fixing them and send them to the junkyard.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Last year, Mr. McClusky took me off the morning shift. He said people didn\u2019t have any tolerance for my \u201cno-nonsense attitude\u201d first thing in the morning. That was his nice way of saying that people were complaining because I didn\u2019t give them the happy-crappy morning show routine.<\/p>\n Donny did that. He had the patter down. He smiled at every customer, nodded as if he were deeply concerned. And when people asked the same inane questions about whether or not their car \u201cneeded\u201d that air filter or brake job, he didn\u2019t look at them like they were stupid.<\/p>\n I did. I couldn\u2019t help myself. I knew it would upset customers, but I was too busy to baby them and listen to their bullshit. I needed to fix cars, not listen to some sob story from some ass-wipe who spent more on his ride\u00a0than I got paid in a year. His problems were nothing compared to mine.<\/p>\n Even off the morning shift, I still couldn\u2019t get through a week without some customer or another complaining about my attitude. Mr. McClusky liked my work, though, so he didn\u2019t want to fire me. He said no one could rebuild an engine like me. So, last month, we worked out a deal: I would come in at the end of the day, when the customers were gone and the rest of the crew was heading home. I\u2019d have the shop to myself. And I\u2019d work on cars all night. Alone.<\/p>\n It was heaven. I turned on the radio and listened to Bob Seger and Bruce Springsteen\u2014none of that crappy hip-hop bullshit the younger guys listened to. In the first week, I fixed seventeen cars. I rebuilt two engines all by myself. The customers were pleased to get their cars fixed overnight, and Mr. McClusky was happy to have someone around to watch the shop in the evening.<\/p>\n I worked from six till three, with an hour off to eat. I usually took a break around eleven and headed to the Midnight Star, an all-night diner down on Route 24. They served breakfast all day, and that suited me fine. I could stomach pancakes and bacon a lot easier than a greasy burger at that time of night.<\/p>\n Mindy, the waitress there, knew me. She put up with my bullshit attitude because I tipped her well. I put up with her unending perkiness because I knew it was part of her job.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Pete. Want the usual?\u201d she asked as I sat down on a stool at the counter. I just nodded as she poured me a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re a little late tonight. Busy?\u201d She knew I worked over at McClusky\u2019s Garage and sometimes sent business our way.<\/p>\n I looked up at the clock above the pass-through to the kitchen. It was a quarter till midnight. I didn\u2019t realize it was so late.<\/p>\n \u201cSomebody brought in one of those fancy German cars. They always take longer because I gotta dig out the metric tools. That\u2019s why we charge labor by the hour. Ain\u2019t no skin off my nose if it takes me twice as long to fix. I get paid either way.\u201d<\/p>\n Mindy didn\u2019t say anything to that. She just chewed her nicotine gum and waited by the window for Gary to serve up my pancakes.<\/p>\n The television in the corner played one of the 24-hour news channels, but the sound was turned off. The closed captioning was turned on, so it was a running ticker of news to read. The jukebox played some country-western song from the days when Patsy Cline knew that loving someone was just crazy.<\/p>\n The door opened, letting in a cool gust of December wind. I glanced up, but didn\u2019t even register if the guy who had come in was a regular or not. I was more concerned with the cold air he brought with him. The garage could be downright icy. McClusky didn\u2019t like heating the place for just me, and set the thermostat to fifty-eight degrees. The diner was my warm recess each night.<\/p>\n \u201cAnybody know if there\u2019s a garage open around here?\u201d asked the stranger.<\/p>\n Before I could stare her down to keep her mouth shut, Mindy piped up, \u201cPete here works over at McClusky\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n I shot daggers at her instead, and then I took a long sip from my coffee.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it open?\u201d asked the stranger.<\/p>\n \u201cNobody\u2019s there right now,\u201d I said. \u201cAs you can see, I\u2019m having breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI really need some help,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cCall a tow truck,\u201d I said, knowing full well that it would take a couple of hours. Tow trucks tended to get busy around the holidays, especially when there was a couple inches of fresh snow on the roads.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t understand,\u201d the guy said. \u201cMy car\u2019s right outside. We were driving down the highway when the engine light came on. The engine started rattling and then it just died.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re lucky we’re\u00a0always open,\u201d said Mindy.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you help me?\u201d asked the stranger.<\/p>\n I still hadn\u2019t given the guy a second glance. Just drank my coffee and stared straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mindy looking\u00a0at me. I heard her foot tapping on the linoleum, and it wasn\u2019t in time to the jukebox.<\/p>\n \u201cPete!\u201d she barked. \u201cDon\u2019t be an ass. Help the kid.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked to my left and took in the stranger. He was maybe twenty, if that. He wore a blue hoodie over a white t-shirt. Both were inappropriate for the weather outside.<\/p>\n \u201cAin\u2019t gonna do any good,\u201d I said, moving toward the door. \u201cI don\u2019t have my tools.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can use mine,\u201d said Gary, from the kitchen. \u201cI\u2019ll bring \u2018em around.\u201d<\/p>\n Great<\/em>, I thought. I\u2019m never gonna get to eat.<\/em><\/p>\n I walked outside. Despite my coveralls, the winter night bit into me. I couldn\u2019t imagine the kid was enjoying it either. The car had barely made it off the highway. It stopped at the far edge of the diner\u2019s parking lot.<\/p>\n The kid opened the car door and the dome light came on. I realized there was someone else waiting inside. A young girl, no older than the kid. She seemed upset, but when she looked at me, I thought I saw relief cross her face.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re gonna need to get it closer to the diner, so I can see,\u201d I told the kid. \u201cPop it into neutral, and help me push.\u201d<\/p>\n By the time the kid put the car in gear, Gary had arrived with his tools. He placed the box on the roof\u00a0of the car and helped me push while the kid steered. In a couple of minutes, we had moved the car to the front row of the parking lot, right by the door. Gary, seeing the young girl, told her to go inside and warm up.<\/p>\n \u201cYou, too,\u201d said Gary, motioning to the kid. \u201cThat coat isn\u2019t going to keep you warm. Get inside.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I\u2019ll stay,\u201d said the kid. \u201cI want to help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou ever fix cars?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said the kid. \u201cI was more into wood shop.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen get your ass inside,\u201d I said. \u201cYou too, Gary. My breakfast ain\u2019t gonna cook itself.\u201d<\/p>\n I popped the hood and took a look at the engine, beneath the neon glow of the diner’s big yellow\u00a0star. One glance was all it took. The engine was covered in transmission fluid, which meant a leak somewhere. Considering how quickly the car had died, it was probably a pretty sizable leak, too. Maybe a cracked bell housing or a torn line. I\u2019d have to take it apart to know for sure, and I couldn\u2019t do that in the parking lot of a diner. Not with Gary\u2019s meager tools. I dropped the hood, picked up Gary\u2019s toolbox, and walked back inside.<\/p>\n The warm air of the diner felt good after ten minutes in the freezing cold. I set Gary\u2019s toolbox on the counter and walked to the booth where the kid and his girlfriend were sitting. Before I could say a word, Mindy appeared by my side. No doubt, she was there to make sure I didn\u2019t act like\u2026well, me. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be nice.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, it\u2019s a transmission leak. Looks like you tore a line or cracked the housing. I couldn\u2019t tell for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI might have hit something a mile or so before the light came on,\u201d he said. \u201cJust figured it was a rock or something.\u201d<\/p>\n An unspoken question hung in the air. The kid wasn\u2019t going to ask, so I just said it right out.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t fix it.\u201d Sensing a death glare from Mindy, I added, \u201cNot here. I\u2019ll need to take it back to the garage and work on it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI appreciate it, but\u2026\u201d The kid lowered his eyes, then gazed over to the girl in the booth beside him.<\/p>\n Seeing her without her coat on, I realized for the first time that she was ready to pop.<\/p>\n \u201cI get it,\u201d I said. \u201cYou can\u2019t afford it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure Pete would be happy to help you out, considering the circumstances,\u201d said Mindy.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I could chip in some free labor, but it ain\u2019t my garage,\u201d I said, more to Mindy than the kid. \u201cI can\u2019t just give away parts.\u201d<\/p>\n She glared at me. \u201cBut I guess I could give you a discount, seeing how you\u2019re in a family way and all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe really appreciate it, mister,\u201d said the kid. \u201cIt means a lot to us.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are the two of you heading?\u201d asked Mindy.<\/p>\n I could sense the conversation was taking a turn toward\u00a0the personal, so I extracted myself and returned to the counter. My coffee cup was full. Lukewarm, but not cold. I drank it anyway.<\/p>\n I pulled out my cell phone and called a guy who owed me a favor. He agreed to tow the car over to the garage. It\u2019d be waiting for me when I finished my breakfast.<\/p>\n I figured it wouldn\u2019t kill me to be nice, just once. After all, it was Christmas.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Unlikeable. It was the same word in every rejection from a woman, on each evaluation at work, at the bottom of all my\u00a0report cards in school. No matter how well I performed, my social skills were\u2014in a word\u2014non-existent. God knows I tried. I read self-help books. I attended seminars. I even found a woman in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[1205],"class_list":["post-9065","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","tag-unlikeable-midnight"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9065","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9065"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9065\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9065"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9065"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.confabulatorcafe.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9065"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}