Mr. B

My brain is foggy now, as headsnot and viral interlopers have taken over its functioning. Yeah, that's right: my previously superior immune system is now fighting off whatever stupid cold my family spread around. It's doing a pretty good job so far. I've got a big ol' turkey carcass simmering on the stove, so I can make turkey soup: clinically proven to reduce cold symptoms. I'm guessing turkey and chicken are interchangeable.

While we're mired in a 13-day shopping frenzy, for the true meaning of the Christmas spirit, I need look no further than Mr. B, my auto mechanic.

I took my van in for a winter tune-up a few weeks ago. When I got it back, I noticed it was hesitating and idling roughly, and when I gunned the engine there was a pop under the hood. Like a small explosion. I let it go on for a week or two, hoping it would work itself out, which is my reaction to any potential unpleasant confrontation with humans or auto mechanics or salespeople. Not surprisingly, it didn't work itself out. So I took it back to Mr. B.

I politely explained that this problem started after they had previously worked on it. They said they'd take a look at it. After two days, they still couldn't figure out what the problem was and kept it over the weekend.

Finally, yesterday Mr. B called and said he'd gone in over the weekend and fixed it. No charge.

I'm cynical, so I assumed this was just a way for him to sound like a nice guy, and knowing that if he offered to do it for free (in fact, fixing what they kinda screwed up in the beginning) I would jump in and say, no, no, let me give you something for your trouble. And then he would be a doubly nice guy by refusing it. What a manipulative jerk.

Which is exactly how it played out.

I went in and offered him some money. He refused it. Manipulative jerk!

"But you came in over the weekend!" I argued.

"Yeah, but I do that sometimes."

"But you're an independent businessman. You can't go giving away your services for free!"

What the hell is wrong with me? He fixed my van for free, it took a lot of his time, it required parts, and I'm telling him how to run his business and trying to give him money when I don't have to. Who's the manipulative jerk now?

"Well...you pick and choose who you do that for. You're a good customer, and you've spent a lot of your hard-earned money here. So, that's what I do. Merry Christmas."

I lamely tried one more time, gesturing my arm forward, check in hand. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

So, Mr. B is in fact a very nice guy. I think he digs me. I graciously accepted the win, thanked him profusely, shook his greasy hand and left, knowing that even though Mr. B won this round, I'll get back at him next week with a big tray of cookies.

Thanks again, Mr. B.