All I Wanted was a Simple Oil Change

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I finally managed to get my car to the shop to get the oil changed Saturday. There's only one shop open on Saturday in the little town I live in. I'd never been to this shop before, but I've heard good things about the shop, that they really know how to take care of a car. I had been waiting about half an hour when Tom, the owner of the shop, called me into his office.

"Miss Wild, I'd like to talk to you. Would you come in here, please?"

I went to the office and he stepped aside to let me through the doorway. He closed the door, and as I was about to have a seat in front of his large, cluttered desk, he opened another door to the side and said, rather grimly, I thought, "In here, if you don't mind."

I felt a bit wary, and it was on the tip of my tongue to say that I did mind, couldn't we discuss whatever it was in the main office, but something about his demeanor warned me not to argue.

He sat down at a smaller, much neater desk in the smaller, tidier room we entered and motioned for me to have a seat in the chair beside the desk. "Miss Wild," he began, "I must say that your car has been sadly neglected."

I felt rather like a schoolgirl being scolded over the neglect of her studies. I started to explain, "I've been --"

He held up his hand, signaling that he expected not to be interrupted and continued, "The oil was over two quarts low -- *two quarts*, Miss Wild," he repeated with considerable emphasis. "And the sticker on the windshield indicates the oil was last changed *eight months ago*. Is that correct, Miss Wild?"

"Well, I meant to --"

"Yes, or no, Miss Wild. *Is that correct*?"

"Yes, but I --"

"That is bad for an engine, *very* bad for an engine, driving it like that," he said severely. "Furthermore, I'm told that the power steering fluid was also low. Do have any idea what could happen if your steering suddenly went out during a turn?" It was pretty clear that he did not expect an answer, so I didn't even try to give him one.

"When is the last time you took that car to a car wash?" he asked suddenly. I was trying to remember when he demanded, "Answer me when I ask you a question!"

"Um ... I don't remember," I answered hesitantly.

"That doesn't surprise me at all. And those worn wiper blades would do you no good at all in a rainstorm."

"But this is west Texas!" I finally got a few words in. "It hardly ever rains here."

"Miss Wild, I don't believe you are taking this at all seriously. I'm afraid you force me to do something to help you understand the gravity of the situation." He stood up and indicated that I should do the same. He pulled a long, heavy ruler from the middle desk drawer, then sat down in the armless chair I had just vacated. This was crazy! He looked as though he intended to --

Before I could even finish the thought, much less attempt to escape, he had me by the upper left arm, pulling me face down across his lap!

Struggling did no good at all. Before you could say "socket wrench", my skirt was up, my panties were down, and I was getting the first spanking I'd had since I was five years old and refused to put away my toys.

After about a million spanks with that ruler, someone knocked on the door, then opened it a few inches. The ruler stopped as Ed stuck his head in the doorway. "Tom," he suggested, "you might want to talk to her about the leak in the brake line and the bald tires, too."

"Leaking brake line AND bald tires?"

I was fully expecting a renewed assault from that vicious ruler, but instead, Tom reached forward with his left hand and pulled an unusual paddle from the top right drawer of the desk. It was wood, but with a thick layer of black, treaded rubber on one side.

And that's how I ended up with tire tracks on my butt.

To email Pandora about All I Wanted was a Simple Oil Change, write: pandoraswild@goplay.com