Soda's POV
I'm leaning my head on my hands and watching the rain stream down the windows at the DX, praying no-one wants me to fill up their gas in the next few minutes. Inwardly I laugh, Steve's gonna be here soon and there's no way he'll want to get his hair wet, I guess that leaves me to get soaked on the pumps and him in the back.
That's ok though. I'm not so precious over my hair.
A car pulls up. I jam my cap on and jog out all smiles. It's a car of soccy girls, but they'll still flirt and tip well. And feel the same way about getting their hair wet as steve does.
They're chatty. Pretty and well dressed too.
It's a welcome distraction from a boring afternoon.
I fill them up and wave them off, feigning my heart being broken that they don't want to spend the afternoon at a garage.
As soon as they've gone another car pulls in. Black pontiac.
Bit nicer than Tim's. It's greasy lads off to hunt down some skirt. We chat cars and updates as I fill them up and off they go.
It's suddenly steadily busy. I guess the rain makes people anxious that they have enough gas to get home. A few more tuff soc cars, a few more beat up ones. A bit of chat and goofing off each time.
If im honest, the lines between soc and grease are blurring as the years pass. I don't care so much and my reputation (and Steve's) for our good humour ( mostly mine) and even better knowledge about cars (mostly Steve's) matters more to me- and our customers.
As the rush dies off I head back in to dry off a bit as Steve arrives, scowling at the heavens.
"The cavalry has arrived too late to save me from the rain- I swear a damn near drowned"
I greet him grinning and heading on the heater in the shop. I suspect there is steam rising from my shirt. I put my cap on the heater to dry it off a bit.
He grins at me. He knows I don't mean it. " since you're already wet an' all, I guess I'll do the cars, you can do the gas. No sense if us both being soaked, eh?" It's framed as a question, but I already know it's a done deal.
"What's to look at first?" He asks stomping off towards the back.
I tell his retreating back that there's a list on the desk out there but it's all pretty minor repairs.
I know that won't please Steve. He prefers a challenge.
He loves a good mystery rattle or strange noise.
An hour passes. I get the odd gas fill up and Steve works steadily through the list. I wonder if he's bored of all this. I wonder if he should go to college. He's way smarter than me.
I'm pulled from my thoughts by the phone. I answer "DX g..."
Before I can get any further with my cheery answering I am cut short.
"Some Bitch hit my car. They snarl. I'm on 8th and Exeter. I need a tow"
I'd recognise that snarl anywhere, he's getting more and more like a meaner version of Tim.
" Hi Curley! No problem" .
I figure we should deal with this quickly for the sake of the other driver.
Steve appears. We toss a coin for the tow and I can see him mentally calculating if he'll get wetter on the now quiet pumps our out in the tow truck.
He sends me to tow despite losing the toss. I'm happy either way so I grab the keys and grin at him. Happy for a change of scene but pointing out that he owes me one.
It's not far. I pull up at the two cars on the side of the intersection and jump out.
It's not Curley's car but one of their gangs. He looks pretty menacing but from what I can see it's minor for him. New bumper, new rear light.
The two of them are intimidating a middle aged lady. She's in tears. I think I'd probably feel the same way with the two of them telling her what an inconvenience she's caused them and how awful she is.
The front of her car is a twisted mass of metal.
She spots me and my greasy hair the way Curley greets me and seems pally.
She visibly recoils when I approach her.
I tell Curley and his buddy to leave off, that they can drive to the DX and Steve will get them on the road again in no time. They're not happy, but they're getting wet and they trust my opinion.
I wave them off and smile my 100 watt best at the lady. I ask her if she wants a tow or if she wants a lift to a pay phone to call another garage.
I'm super polite. My social workers and pony's teachers voice. I hope I don't look too scary.
The lady reminds me of Two bits mom. It's not her, but she's got the same hair. The same careworn look. She's better dressed than his mum though, I guess she's not from our end of town.
Even so, you don't speak to ladies like that and the driving conditions are horrible. It's chucking it down still, dark, heavy rain and water on the road. I'm surprised we haven't been called to tow more cars.
I'm angry at Curley for being himself.
She collects herself. She still looks a bit panicked but she's drenched and she must be freezing. She asks for a tow and a quote to repair.
This is a job Steve will enjoy, and I'm sure he can do it pretty quickly. I tell her she can leave her number and I can drop her home- we can call and tell her what's what and she can always get another garage to collect it if she changes her mind about us.
I say all of this too quickly. I realise I don't have a pen or paper for the number and that I won't remember it.
I'm in luck, she's got one of those mom purses that is like a utility belt.
As she pulls out a notepad and sentry writes her name and number in neat writing. I'm reminded of my own mother producing snacks and handkerchiefs and bandaid and pens like a magician.
It makes me smile.