I just realized–after two and a half hours at the dealership–that everyone else in the service area has someone to share their news with. Men and women with kids or teens, find out the news and then make a call (“it’s a starter” “it’s not the engine” “I told him to fix it”). Now granted, I text Rose and told her but she didn’t need to know. I just wanted to share my news with someone too. 

These people have someone that has to know about their vehicle diagnosis. And I look at them. They have someone waiting on them and their cars. Sadie doesn’t care the Maxima is getting a brake job. Sadie doesn’t care that this is causing me to miss kickboxing. My stomach growls. I growl. 

No one here cares about the Thanksgiving Jäger Massacre of 2015. They were busy. Busy with the people who needed to know about the starter. Nagging one another (“are you wearing that?” “Hurry we are gonna be late”). And devouring family dinners.