Lyle's Car Repair Service For Women (Patreon)
Content
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Lyle has just returned from buying little scented pine trees at Pep Boys. (He hangs them in his tent in the back yard.) A new business venture, inspired by a transaction he observed while in line, has had his mind racing the entire walk home.
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LYLE GABRIEL: [Bursts into living room] Hey, I got an idea for a business!
TÉODOR OREZSCU: [Reading magazine on couch, does not look up] Huh.
LYLE: You know how mechanics always rip chicks off?
TÉODOR: Sure.
LYLE: I'd be the middleman! The chick'd tell me what was wrong with her car, then I'd figure out what was wrong, and I'd take it to the garage. No wrencher's gonna BS me, man!
TÉODOR: [Looks up] Why should the woman trust you?
LYLE: Flat fee, man. Twenty bucks. Way less than some crook greasemonkey paddin' an extra eighty-five clams into the ticket for “battery post visual inspection” or “cylinder head count confirmation.”
TÉODOR: Isn't twenty bucks too low? The average garage overcharge or upsell for a woman is probably like four hundred bucks.
LYLE: Twenty bucks for me takin' in some Aspire with a dead power door lock actuator and yellin' “FIX ONLY THAT AND NONE 'A YER BULLSHIT!” is a pretty good deal. Takes me about six seconds. Plus, there's a lotta chicks out there with pent-up car problems they been afraid to get fixed. A surplus, man. I'd be busy mornin' 'til night.
TÉODOR: How would your system work? Like, logistically?
LYLE: I'd meet the chicks a couple blocks from the garage, check the car out, then drop it off.
TÉODOR: Wouldn't the garage be suspicious of you always bringing in all kinds of different cars?
LYLE: Whatta they care? Business is business. I'll kick their asses if they bug me, I'll tell you that much.
TÉODOR: What would the woman do after you dropped off the car?
LYLE: That's up to her. I'm gonna be wearin' cologne and stuff, so that's one angle.
TÉODOR: Maybe you could have a company car and drop her off back home. That'd be a nice service.
LYLE: Eh, if this brings in enough cash, yeah, I wouldn't mind gettin' myself a little chopped and channeled Model A with some whitewalls and a screamin' 350.
TÉODOR: No woman wants to ride in some creepy old Jack Daniels hot rod.
LYLE: Chicks only think they don't like street rods. Once they get in, it's like some taboo's been broken, and they're bein' a “bad girl.” That's when they start creamin' a little for ya.
TÉODOR: Huh. So, for twenty bucks, you save them money AND let them live on the wild side for a bit.
LYLE: Lotsa' broads never run up against a real hard-livin' guy like me. It's a breath 'a fresh air after all their no-opinion-havin' jerk dope weiner boyfriends from the office building.
TÉODOR: Well, I guess there's an angle there if you can get it going. How are you gonna advertise?
LYLE: I'll just look for a chick with a broken-down car and pitch 'er. Pretty soon she'll be tellin' all her friends about me, word of mouth, and it'll be heavy cash with a chance 'a gash, man. Some chicks might come back just for the free roll in the hay, you know?
TÉODOR: That won't happen, but I like your optimism.
LYLE: Won't happen, huh. Screw you, T. Amateur bastard.
TÉODOR: I'm just saying, some guy with cologne who brokers car repairs off a street corner...any female who offers you action, I wouldn't just wear a rubber, I'd rent an iodine chamber and some swim goggles.
LYLE: This's the last time I tell Dr. No the next great idea! Have fun on the couch there, lettin' the next microchip pass you by.
TÉODOR: “Ignorance is bliss, said the person.” Old Chinese sentence.
LYLE: [Leans menacingly, dangerously close in to Téodor, then waves his extended middle finger beneath Téodor's nostrils like a smelling salt] Fuck you.
TÉODOR: [Turns away]
LYLE: [Squats down] I SHIT ON THIS FLOOR!
TÉODOR: [Arms crossed, still facing away]
LYLE: [Stands, pumps fist, leaves]
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