The Friendliest Nazi

Earlier this week, I made arrangements to take my newish car in for its first big servicing. I drive a 2006 Toyota Prius. There’s nothing wrong with it. It just hit the point in the manual where they suggest that you take it in for a full physical. So I did. Because this apparently is going to take a while, I dropped it off at 7:30 and took a loaner car back to work. That’s the summary of this post. The devil is in the details.

I’ll skip over all the parts that aren’t funny. With my car checked in and the paperwork for the loaner car complete, I was ushered to the lobby to meet the guy who would give me my temporary ride. He was a skinny light blond guy who looks like his last career was as a kindergarten teacher. I had the faint impression that I could go to his house, tie him up, and brutally slaughter his family members in front of him and receive nothing more than a mildly disappointed -- yet forgiving -- request that I not do that any more.

We walked outside to the lot and he said, “We’re giving you an ’89 Chevy Astro. Sound good?” As his joke sailed past me (to be hunted down and noticed about 15 minutes later), I replied “So long as it can drive 10 miles, works for me!” Astonishingly, despite my complete failure to notice his jest, I’m actually pleased with my answer. I think it works even better in the joking context than it did as the literal truth I meant it to be. (Can you tell that I’m not a car person?) He laughed, incorrectly registering the joke I had not intended to make, and said, “Well shoot! That one is gone. Guess you’ll have to settle for the Toyota Tundra.”

I had no idea what a Toyota Tundra was. For those of you who might be with me on that boat, please take a second to look at the following picture: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:%2704-%2706_Toyota_Tundra_Double_Cab_TRD.jpg

Since we were clearly walking towards an area of the lot with only one enormous vehicle in it, I was able fake pre-knowledge. I replied, “What a coincidence! I parked my Prius under this exact truck not ten minutes ago to keep it out of the sun!”

Due to his pause, choke, and subsequent giggle fit, I have to assume that my reply was somewhat original. It also highlights a peculiar contrast that I invariably face in this sort of situation. To date, I have owned two cars. I think both of them were perfect for my situation at the time. First, I had a tiny 1998 Hyundai Accent. Excellent college car. Second, the Prius. My dream car would have two special features. First, it would get 1000 miles per gallon (of water). Second, it would fold up and slide comfortably into rain gutters when not needed, thus making parking a breeze and eliminate the need for me to stop and refuel it. Generally speaking, if you look at a guy like me and he’s driving a Hyundai Accent or a Prius, you come away thinking that he is not a car person. Troubling hints that he’s an economist, an environmentalist, or an alarming hybrid of the two might cross your mind. But not a car person.

Despite these subtle hints, every time I get a loaner car, the same thing happens. The guy goes into the room of available cars, scans over the compacts, sedans, four doors, and vans and instead decides, “I think I’ll give him our brand new, experimental military assault vehicle prototype! He’ll like that!” I’m not making this up. On the side of my Tundra, someone has painted a graphic reading “Toyota Tundra: Off-Road Racing Vehicle.” I think that’s supposed to make me feel cool. Instead, I just end up being annoyed that I have to get out of the monster because my arm isn’t long enough to reach down to the security keypad on my work’s gate from the driver’s seat. Generally people reach UP to enter the code. But not me on loaner car days!

As he went around my vehicle, making notes of the scratches in the armor plating, I noticed something that seemed out of place. On the back of his left hand, between his thumb and index finger, someone had drawn a dime-sized swastika with what looked like a ballpoint pen. Two letters were similarly drawn onto his knuckles, but they did not mean anything to me and I have since forgotten them. It appeared as though he had attempted to wash off both the letters and the swastika, but had not met with great success.

This left some questions in my mind. I wondered if my perky ex-kindergarten teacher friend had drawn the swastika himself. I would consider that a troubling sign. I usually hope that my (sometimes accidental) social graces stem from an odd form of wit. I do not find myself quite so happy if I notice that instead I am popular because I’m a tall, blonde, muscular guy who (inexplicably) gives off an aura of loving military assault vehicles.

However, since I’m in Sheboygan, I can’t rule out the possibility that, just like every Tuesday night, this guy went out drinking with his buddies until he passed out, at which point they helpfully provides him with assorted body graffiti to help him out at work the next day. Even if that was the case, that still left this guy’s taste in friends somewhat in question.

I drove away from the friendliest Nazi with these questions unanswered.