Carnie?

Picture this:
It was a long day, work had me worn out. I am flying down the road in the Paste Eater Mobile, stereo on 11, I can feel the stress melting away. I had been on the road no longer than 10 minutes, when I am faced with every light on my dash board lit up like Christmas. I panic, turn down the stereo and roll down the window (like I'm going to be able to diagnose this by sound). There seems to be nothing wrong. I pull into the first parking lot I see, open the hood, and realize something very important.

I am a very handy guy. I change my own brakes, I have installed memory in my computer and have replaced a toilet. This is a mere sampling of the myriad of handy things that I am accomplished at. But much like my computer, I know more than the average bear, thus enough to be dangerous. I'm staring at my engine like I just peeled off the cover on my Ipod. I can tell you what each part does, but staring at it doesn't mean I know what to do.

So I do what everyone who owns a computer does...I shut it down, waited for a few minutes and hoped it would go away. Much to my surprise, the mechanical magic approach was not successful. I very gingerly drive my car home.

The next morning I decide to tow my car to my trusted car mechanic. Everyone needs a computer guy and a mechanic. These can never be the same person. I don't know why, so don't ask. I digress. This is the reason I have AAA. So I can tow my car and not have to worry about it.

Now the fun begins:
Tow truck driver has the Paste Eater Mobile up on the truck in about 15 minutes. I pull my other car around and prepare for the drive to the mechanic. The tow truck driver, lets call him Stumpy, wipes off his hands and approaches my driver side window. Stumpy then tells me his whole life story. I want to be rude, but the man his my car on his tow truck. I don't want to be rude to a waiter that is alone with my food. So you can imagine how fake nice I'm being.

Stumpy is now talking about everything under the sun and quite possibly the universe. He is so random, that I am contemplating flashing a shiny thing at him to distract him. But I am afraid that it would start a new conversation about shiny things.

I have a strange sense of deja vu. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. He is a Carnie! In case you have been living under a rock for the last 50 years, a Carnie is Carnival Worker. You know the type. Dirty, bad tattoos and one tooth in their head. Carnies love to talk. They feed this need by holding you, your loved one or belongings hostage. If your child is on the ride they are operating, you are gonna need to be nice. If you are about to step into the death trap 2ooo, you put our life in his hand.

I hereby submit my newest entry for profiling.

The Carnie:
Greasy, dirty, irritating bastard. That will not shut up.