An Ode to My Mechanic

Oh Mechanic,
How I love thee.

I love that you always explain things to me, and never snicker when I have no clue what you are talking about
I love that you always answer your phone and know who I am, even if I am sobbing incoherently
I love that you have never tried to screw me literally or figeratively
I love that none of your mechanics never blatently check out my boobs while I am waiting
I love that you have People, Cosmo, National Geographic, and Time in your waiting room, giving me options to read
I love that you always have a clean waiting room and a lovely carafe of coffee or juice for me
I love that you give me a triple A discount even if I don't show you my card
I love that everyone you employ is polite
I love that you will walk me to the car and point out what is broken and then show me the new thing you have to put in
I love that you don't mind yelling at the bastards in Sears and Firestone on my behalf.
I love that you are honest

So in honor of you, My Mechanic I will end in a song (sung to the hotdog jingle)

My mechanic has a first name it's S-T-E-V-E
My mechanic has second name it's J-a-n- something-something
Cause Steve Jan-something-something has a way with A-U-T-O-S

Seriously, I have the best mechanic, in Pasadena, nay Los Angeles, nay California... perhaps the world.

I am willing to share, let me know if you need a mechanic.