WHO: Mikaela Banes (OPEN) WHAT: Working. Because people need running vehicles even if they can't talk. WHEN: Lunchtime WHERE: Fifth Street Mechanics RATING: TBD STATUS: In Progress
I. Cannot. Understand. You.
The words were mouthed as slowly and clearly as was possible, the young woman responsible doing her best to keep her irritation hidden as she once again motioned to the notepad and pen laid out in front of her. In neat scrawl across the top was a simple question. What is wrong with your car? Really, it was a basic question that anyone who walked into an auto-shop would expect to hear. Or, given the recent city-wide epidemic, read. Yet for some reason the current moron standing in front of her didn't seem to understand that fact. He just kept opening and closing his mouth, his face reddening with every passing second as he motioned almost frantically to his car parked at the curb outside.
Frustrated to the point that she was nearly ready to hit him with said notepad, the young woman finally tossed up her arms and simply snatched the dangling keys from his hand. He stopped mid-silent rant and she merely arched a brow before pointing at the exit. With a nod he turned and left, and Mikaela silently sighed and shook her head. Dropping the keys, along with the third blank order form in a row, into the waiting basket, she glanced over her shoulder at her boss and motioned to her watch.
Once given the all clear to take a much needed break, the woman turned to leave but stopped short as yet someone else entered the front of the shop. She debated briefly on leaving anyway and letting one of her not-too-bright co-workers handle this latest customer. One glance at the newcomer and she changed her mind. This one was an outsider just like her. No way was she passing up the chance to actually deal with someone with a brain... or a vehicle like they one they were driving.
With a smile, she held up the notepad with the question still written across the top.