I picked up my VW Van from the mechanic’s yesterday. It seems, seems to be fine. In fact it seems better than fine.

When i arrived to pay him and take the keys i noticed the pile of parts he’d taken out.

“Uh, Mike, i thought i asked you to replace the flywheel i had…”

“Yeah, i overrode your decision.”

“But, uh, doesn’t that mean i’ve got a mystery, non-machined, flywheel…”

“I don’t trust the one you came in with. I don’t do work that i don’t trust. You have a problem, bring it back and i’ll fix it. But you won’t because you won’t have a problem.”

Certainly has no shortage of confidence in his work. I didn’t argue… and, sitting here right now, i think he made the correct decision; the vehicle drives better than when i first picked it up in St. Louis over a year ago.

I still want a bumper sticker that reads: I enjoy driving my vehicle more than you enjoy driving yours. But, there are times when i completely hate owning a 14 year old sluggish vehicle that does not get very good gas milage.

But that seems to be simply another expression of the way my entire life seems to be organized: love or hate. For instance, i love working at Ordway Center. Notice i didn’t say “working for Ordway Center.” I feel positively blessed that i get to come to this wonderful theatre… and have my office just off the magnificent mezzanine foyer. But then i’m forced to interact with several employees here and i’m reminded of Sartre’s statement, “hell is other people.” Love – hate. Nothing in between.