THE MJ MOBILE

Jerm and I reluctantly woke up at 5:30-ish on Sat morning to go on our usual long Saturday run with the Runner’s World training group. I am convinced that one of the consequences of shamelessly plugging our efforts to run a half-marathon to the world is that accountability has somehow been simultaneously forced into our subconscience. I waited and hoped with every ounce of my body for Jerm to sleep through the ten-millionth alarm that had gone off that morning, but we miraculously dragged ourselves out of bed. I am always glad after the fact, but not so blippity much beforehand. Here is our weekly pic of the run; we decided that "normal smiley face" was getting old.

We finished the run by 7:30, and I decided to beat the mid-day crowd by taking my car to get an oil change. Call me overly-analytical, but when I dropped my car off for the oil change, the young lady who took my keys had a pretty blank disposition. However, when I went to pay for the oil change, I swear that she had a twinkle in her eye and a tiny smirk on her face. I couldn’t place it, but something was different.

I hopped into my freshly oil-changed car and was greeted by one of those little cheap, thin, plastic mats that is placed on the floorboard to prevent oil and crap from getting all over the place. Except I noticed that it was in my passenger seat, and that is when I started to piece some things together. As a courtesy, they vacuumed my floor boards and to do this, they picked up everything off the floor and placed it in the seats. This realization immediately lead me to ask myself, “What the heck could possibly be in my car that might be odd or funny?”

So I started to look around, and I noticed a box of tampons. Okay, maybe funny to a pimply-faced, teenage boy who wants to jokingly leave them in the highly visible outer mesh portion of a male friend’s backpack, but not so much to another female human being. So what on earth could it be?

And then I saw something that was highly likely the culprit. Michael Jacksonwas sitting in my back seat, in the form of JEREMY'S multiple CD collection AND a special commemorative Time magazine edition.

If these people working that day were anything like me, they are sick of the whole Michael Jackson hype and ready for it to pass. So, like I would have done, whoever vacuumed out my car probably saw the stuff, snickered/guffawed/whatever, showed the ol' coworkers, and then decided that this lady was some Michael Jackson freaky deak.

Yay, for the MJ Mobile.