On the right there, you’re looking at the broken, 8-year-old latch that secures one of the 8-year-old pop-out side windows of my 8-year-old truck. In opening the window yesterday the part of the plastic latch that’s attached to a bolt through the glass snapped leaving the window flapping back and forth freely, like a loose shutter in a storm.
With the potential of rain in the forecast this evening and the fact that I hate a hatch left unbattened, I made a pre-work beeline from my polling place this morning over to the Nissan dealership in Glendale where I dismantled the latch and brought it inside to the parts department — but not before examining its sister latch on the other window only to find it too was cracked and no doubt waiting to fall apart the very next time I dared open it. Setting the latch on the counter I advised the attending clerk to “make mine a double” and after his eyes went wide, I attempted to mitigate the impending sticker shock with “I know… they’re probably $30 bucks a piece” while desperately hoping they wouldn’t be. After prolonging the agony with a slow search through the online parts catalog, he let me know with an entirely straight face that they would be $59.95.
“Oh, so I was right?” I asked. “No,” he replied, his face getting even straighter. “Each.”
Sometime after the paramedics arrived and plied me successfully with a defibrillator, I raised myself up from the floor on my elbows and told the parts guy that I just had the funniest dream that he told me it was going to cost me $120. “Not a dream,” he informed me. “$120, plus tax.”
Setting aside the prime opportunity for a tantrum, I instead fished out my checkcard and shrugged my shoulders resigned to paying so mercilessly much for so ridiculously little. And then the miracle happened: “That’s too much,” the clerk told me out of the blue, perhaps guilted by my defeated demeanor.” I will charge you only $25 each.”
Sometime after the paramedics arrived and plied me successfully with a defibrillator, I raised myself up from the floor on my elbows and told the parts guy that I just had the funniest dream that he told me it was going to cost me $50. “Not a dream,” he informed me. “$50, plus tax.”
“Sold!” I said. My heart couldn’t take any more suprises.