Analyze This

So… I’m changing jobs again.  I really liked my “new” job, but I was just working too much.  It wasn’t even actually the fact that I was working so much, it was more the unachievable deadlines putting me in this scenario where I couldn’t leave until “it” was done.  Three months in a row, I wound up working 13-14 hour days on Deadline Day, on top of quite long days the rest of the week.  On Deadline Day, I felt as if I were being held hostage.

The end of September, after working 2 consecutive 13 hour days, I decided, that’s it.  I’m over this.  I called a recruiter that represented another company which had offered me a job at the same time I was offered this one, and asked if she might still have anything for me.  As a matter of fact, she did.  She put me in for five jobs, and within three weeks, I had an offer.  Done.  Moving on.

The last Deadline Day I worked, I hit a giant raccoon on my way home.  It made a lot of noise, but I didn’t think it had hurt my car… but when I pulled in the garage and walked around the car to get in the house, I saw the front bumper hanging off the passenger side, and the passenger headlight hanging loose.  So… my pretty new car is on the bench until I can get it in to the body shop for repairs.  This makes me very sad, but I’m coping.

The night before my last day at my old job, I had this dream:

My coworkers and I were going out to lunch to commemorate my last day.  We all drove separately, and I was driving my silver Monte Carlo (which I haven’t had since approximately 2008).  We stopped at a gas station on the way.  Once inside, we noticed men with guns standing at all the doors.  We were being held hostage.

We’re all just standing around, and I look over and see a side door, and no one is standing with a gun at that door.  My Monte Carlo is parked right outside the door.  I whisper to one of my coworkers… “Hey, we can go out that door.”

She looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head, “No we can’t!  We’re obviously being held hostage.“

“No, look… my car is right there.  We just walk out that door and run to the car and we’re clear.”

She looks over and narrows her eyes, “That’s not your car.”

“What do you mean that’s not my car?  Of course it’s my car!”

She shakes her head, “That’s a Honda Accord.  You drive a Chevy Monte Carlo.”

“WTH are you talking about?  That IS a Chevy Monte Carlo.  That’s MY Chevy Monte Carlo.”

She shakes her head, “That’s a Honda Accord.  And we can’t leave anyway, because we’re hostages.”

So I go to another one of my coworkers, and tell her, “Look, there’s no one standing at that door.  My car is right there.  Let’s just go out that door and get out of here!”

She looks in the direction of the door and asks, “Where did you say your car was?”

“Right there.  My Monte Carlo is parked right outside the door, see it?”

“That’s not a Monte Carlo.  That’s a Honda Accord.  You don’t have an Accord.”

So I just give up.  I wish everyone the best of luck, and I walk right out that door, get into my Monte Carlo and begin driving away.  Just as I’m pulling out of the parking lot, a giant raccoon runs out in front of me, and I hear a giant CRACK.

I keep driving though… because there are men with guns who might be following me.  I decide to just drive to my insurance agent’s office.  My agent comes out, surveys the damage, and says, “The car’s totaled.  So what we’ll do, is we’ll cover you for a new car, as long as it’s either an Acura or an Accord.”

He gives me a list of Honda dealers and tells me, “You can go to any of these dealers, and pick out any Acura or Accord that you want.”

“But… this car is a Monte Carlo!”

“They don’t make Monte Carlo’s anymore, Ginger.  So you’ll have to get either an Acura or an Accord.  Do you accept the terms of this offer?”

I signed a piece of paper and headed to the first Honda dealer on the list.

When I got there, I asked the salesman, “Do you have any Acuras?”

The salesman told me no, he didn’t have any Acuras.  But he has an Accord?

I decide to try a different dealership.  I ask that salesman, “Do you have any Acuras?”

That salesman says, “We only sell Accords here.  Would you like an Accord?”

I tell him that I’d really rather have an Acura.

There’s only one dealership left.  I go there, and I ask the salesman, “Do you have any Acuras?”

He says no, but he has beautiful Accord, right here on the showroom floor.  It’s the most beautiful Accord in the world, and he’ll take me there, but I have to sign this piece of paper first.

I look at the paper, and across the top it says “ACCORD AGREEMENT”.

The agreement says, by signing this paper, I agree to never drive anything but Accords for the rest of my life.

I tell the salesman, I’m not sure about this… I’ve never actually driven an Accord before? He promises me that they’re a lot like Acuras, besides, they’re made by the same Company.

“Well let me at least just look at it first.”

The salesman shakes his head.  “Nope.  We have to come to an accord on this first.  I can’t show you the car unless you sign the agreement.  But I promise you it’s the most beautiful Accord you’ve ever seen.  You’re going to LOVE it.”

I decide the salesman’s kind of handsome.  And if he says I’ll love it, I probably will.  So I sign the paper and we go to the showroom floor and there’s my car… my real car, the car I actually own in real life.  And I do love it!  I tell him, “It actually looks a lot like an Acura!”

He shrugs and says, “Nope, we don’t have Acuras here.  Only Accords.”

THE END.