"nice jeans"

i would wait until the last day of my car's registration month to get it smogged so i can renew. i do that with everything. i finally did my taxes--on the last day for those who filed extensions back in april. with my bills, i'm not so lucky. i usually do it after the deadline. i should tell my creditors that i'm late because it "keeps me humble."

the smog guy was nice. he didn't crack any unnecessary smiles that i would have to return. his uniform was a short-sleeve blue button down with matching blue shorts. i noticed in his garage that he was reading "fast food nation." had i been in a more chatty and faux friendly-with-the-strangers mood, i would have asked if he had seen "super size me." but i wasn't, so i didn't.

instead, as he swiped my credit card for payment, he glanced down at my outfit and said matter-of-factly, "nice jeans." it took me by surprise, since i couldn't figure out what was so special about them. they weren't even clean jeans. for a moment i thought he was being facetious. maybe my fly was down. without looking to check, i pulled my shirt down over my fly--just in case. i figured, i'll check when i get back home.

he even cleaned my windshield for me, since he couldn't see the smog machine through my filthy windows. i felt bad that he had to do so. it's like having someone else wipe your ass. ok. that was really vulgar. it's not that bad, but can you believe it? someone else had to clean up after me. that's pathetic.

at least he liked my jeans.