The matter?
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toy[otas]s
Is jollity for apes and grief for boy[otas]s.
—Cymbeline, Act IV, Scene ii
I can’t speak for the jollity of the apes — though the grease monkeys in the bays, or, more usually, slouching around outside the bays, did seem unusually prone to loud laughter — but this boy most certainly did experience grief as the minutes ticked by, then hours, as I waited for the Toyota mechanics to change the oil, etc on Mrs NiceWork’s Camry.
Nor hours made any shorter by the blaring of the old-fashioned, cube-shaped TV, tuned to the bawling announcers on that Pee-wee Playhouse news channel called CNN, and adjusted to air-raid warning volume.
My new Phancy-Phone helped brighten a few moments. See the photo up there: Ha ha. That’s me in sihouette taking a picture with my Phancy Phone of the shadow on the floor cast by the lettering in the window. Ha ha. Ha Ha.
The keys were placed back in my trembling some 5.25 hours after they were first surrendered. The auto, presumably, was now safer. The driver, until the Toyota was turned over to its usual pilot, was not, having been driven past madness, past road-rage, and well into the red zone of Auto Parts and Services Waiting Room Rage.
But I’m better now thanks for asking. Two krautdogs from Wienerschnitzel expedited the return to society.
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