Time For A Tune Up

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I was at the Coffee House the other day, sipping on my frozen chai tea latte with the slushy ice and nibbling on my chocolate chip cookie, quietly minding my own business. I don't know what I was actually thinking about. It was probably something profound, like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, or how much wood could a woodchuck chuck? I'll never know what great mystery of life I might have solved because a voice from somewhere behind me and to my left came intruding into my thoughts.

A woman at another table was speaking rather loudly, as people who believe they exist in a perpetual Cone of Silence do, about a particularly difficult teenager in her life. She mentioned to the other member of the coffee klatch that she believed the problem child needed an "attitude adjustment."

It was at that point that I began to wonder what would effectively adjust one's attitude. I had a friend who talked about needing an attitude adjustment. She was pretty sure that a trip to a day spa would have her attitude sufficiently adjusted. I'm not quite so sure about that. What exactly would an attitude adjustment entail? Certainly an attitude is too complex for a chiropractor to straighten like a misaligned neck, but more of a whole-body experience. Is there an acupressure point somewhere? Have Chinese healers found where the chi gets blocked and builds up like the emotional equivalent of a blood clot?

I think it must be more like taking your car in for a tune-up. Someone takes you into a version of Auto Zone or Pep Boys especially for malfunctioning humans. You find out the pricing the way you would for new plugs and points for your station wagon or a steering adjustment on your minivan.

I can see my husband wheeling me in, talking or Ernie or George or whoever is behind the counter that day, describing all of the problems he's been having with me lately, anxiety and puzzlement furrowing his brow. "She's never been much for housework, but lately she's been doing all this writing. And when I complain there's no clean forks, she says 'Bite me, Spanky. Load the damn dishwasher yourself.'"

"Don't worry," Ernie will comfort my husband, leading me off like a Stepford wife headed toward her transformation. "We'll take a look at her and figure out what's goin' on."

I'm pretty certain they'll put me up on one of those racks. I only hope it's not like a visit to the doctor's office when you have to undress and put on one of those paper gowns. Although, considering my bad attitude, I might not mind mooning the customers who pull up behind the service bays.

Since it's an attitude problem, as a opposed to a physical one, I don't suppose that they'd be able to use any conventional medical testing. Nope, no blood work or CAT scans for me. They'll have to hook me up the way they do a car engine. It all makes me nervous about the phrase "check under the hood." And where do they attach the cables? What about my undercarriage? I'm sure I'll need a realignment, and I know they'll want to straighten my chassis.

After they've looked things over and rung their diagnostics, they'll go out and tell my husband what they found. I can see it all. The mechanic will walk back in, loudly blowing his nose into his grease-stained handkerchief, and call my husband over to the counter.

"Well, sir," Bubba will say, "we hooked her up to the computer and let 'er run. It seems her verbal filter's clogged, and that's why she's tellin' ya exactly what she thinks. Her empathy setting is off and needs readjusted. Those won't take much to fix. But yer biggest problem is her give-a-damn's busted. We can try to fix it, but once we get in there and check it out, it'll most likely need replaced. Now that's gonna cost ya, either way."

I'm not sure exactly what would be involved in fixing it. Or what exactly Dan would want to do about it. Would he insist, "I'll pay for whatever it takes. I don't care what it costs"?

Maybe he'll tell them, "Well, let's see what you can do to fix it for now. We'll keep an eye on it and hopefully, if we're careful with her, it'll last for a while."

Then again, it depends on cost versus inconvenience. I can see him on the phone, letting his parents know what he found out. "Yeah, it's a shame. She was running pretty good for a longtime there, but Bubba told me that most likely she'd be burning through new ones faster than she should, and I can't afford to keep repairing and replacing them. Yeah, I'll miss her, but with the money I'd save, I figure I can get a newer, slightly used model in much better shape."

Just as I was contemplating my future sitting out on the used wife lot with the rest of the cast-offs, bitching about our current state of affairs, I heard the same voice that led to the derailing of my train of thought complaining that her coffee had gotten cold, her scone didn't have enough apple, and her chair was uneven. As I returned to my own beverage and cookie, I couldn't help but wonder how on earth someone with such a sunny disposition could end up with an antagonistic teenager with a less-than angelic attitude.