Lemon in my tea? How about one in my garage?

The people I meet never cease to amaze me. Both in over and underwhelming. I have my foot up in the chair with me. The other one too. The cat looks at me like I owe him fifteen dollars. Come to think of it... Lemons come in many shapes. I bought one last week in the shape of a bicycle. I took it on an inaugural sojourn. About five miles away. No big whoop right? I have spent some time this spring, on the bicycle showroom floor, outfitting new bikes for the summer season. When all the others had new, shiny bikes, I realized that I too wanted one. I drove to the store intent on buying myself a new bicycle - and that’s what I did. I wanted a white mountain bike. Knobby tires, easy shifting and a durable frame. I saw only one in the store, and I jumped on it. I rode it down the isle to feel it under me, you know, take ‘old girl’ around the floor. A few moments after I got on ‘old girl’ an ‘old man’ sternly corrected my behavior. It was the first time someone had actually yelled at me in a store. I was taken aback and actually got off the bike out of sheer confusion. Then he thanked me very loudly and sarcastically for complying. I walked it to the front and paid for. I had no idea how much more it would cost me. When I got it home, I took it down the block and back. Then, the next day, I took it to the radio station. I had left my Sigg bottle in the soundbooth last Friday. It’s about five miles to the station from the beach. I made it no time and actually found my bottle It was in the possession of another DJ, but I got it back nonetheless. Coming back, I crossed back over to the island on the new bridge. When I came down on the other side, coasting up onto the sidewalk, I heard a nice rubbery POP sound. My back tire locked into a skid and I had to fight the inertia from tossing me over the handlebars. I got off and saw the ribbon that used to be my new back tire. On my new bike. It was obviously not repairable. It needed to be replaced. I pushed it down the street and thought about the choice of pushing and walking versus calling someone to come and get me. I pushed a couple of blocks and decided to make the call. The bike was not rolling with any cooperation whatsoever. As I spoke on the phone with my friend, I looked up and hung up. Island Bicycle Shop AND it was OPEN too I pushed the door open and an electronic buzzer let the shop owner know I was there. On a quick side note: I was a bit disappointed when I heard the door buzzer. I know that if I owned a bike shop, when you walked in, the sound of the Schwinn Thumb Bell would serenade my customers. Ching Ching The shop was empty so I made my way toward the back. I heard someone say “What’s up?” from behind the counter and wall. I couldn’t see anybody, so I went behind the counter and peered into the back room. The shop owner did not stop what he was doing nor did he even make eye contact with me. A bit sweaty and a bit obvious, I broke the ice: “I’m on my way home and my back tire just blew out!” He said nothing. “I was really concerned about how I was keep going, and then I looked up and saw your shop!” Still, no reaction from him. “So... if you sell 26" tubes... I sure could use one!” Then he spoke: “What? You want ME to put on?” “Well... That would be the general idea, yeah.” He reverted to silence yet again. “I’m on way home, to the Island ya see...” Just then he looked at me and raised his voice “You’re ON the Island!” (I thought to myself “Whatta ya -MAD at me?”) “I guess what I meant to say was deeper into the island... er something.” I just shrugged my shoulders in a weak defensive posture. “I’m busy doin’ something right now. Then I have somethin’ else to do that’ll take a half hour. So, if you feel like waiting, I’ll do it after that.” “This is like - a ten minute deal right?” I said. He said nothing. I didn’t know what else to say. I just stared at him for a few moments. “Do you sell tubes?” I asked. “Yeah...” He said. Drawing out the word. “I charge 8 bucks. For the labor.” I turned my back on him. Staring blankly out the window at my wounded soldier on the sidewalk. I took a deep breath and exhaled. Now here I stand, assessing the situation. In a bike shop, with a broken bike in front of me. The guy, that has neither people nor people skills in his shop, couldn’t be less interested in helping me. I’m shiny with sweat, iPod still audible from the tiny ear buds now hanging around my neck. My hands are on my hips and I am trying to breathe through my frustration. Like a new mother in childbirth. I was just about to turn around and give him a witty tongue-lashing when I decided against it. I just walked out the front door. The buzzing sound, I found at that moment, was quite appropriate. I pushed the bike about a half mile more when my friend showed up and carted me home. I took the bike to the other shop on the Island a week later. When I walked in, the first words out of my mouth were “Do you have anything to do with the other shop?” The dude behind the counter shook his melon and said “No”. “Good. Then I’ll stay” I said. He laughed. The tube was repaired right away. He said that 4th of July weekend was really busy, but he had no problem taking care of me first. After he fixed the tube, he showed me the bad news. My tire was bent. The handle bars had not been put together properly, the brakes had not been put on correctly and the wheel alignment was quite askew. I made the sign of the cross with my karate chop hand and gave him the ‘dominus ominous’ to do what needed to be done. $53.00 + $10.00 tip = piece of mind. I tried to ride no-handed yesterday and the bike pulled so hard to the left, I felt like I was on a dive bomber pulling out of formation. The bike is still crappy. I blame the old man in the store that yelled at me for trying to ride it first. Hell - I gotta blame somebody right?