Me Talking to a Car Mechanic on the Phone
I think that went really well.
Me: Hi, it’s me, calling back to schedule some work on my car.
Him: Okay, great, let me pull up your info here. (Typing.) What exactly is the issue?
Me: My engine is missing.
Him: (Pause.) I see.
Me: (Hearing how that sounds.) Okay, wait. My engine isn’t missing missing. I mean, I know where my engine is. It’s still in the car. (Laughs stupidly.) But something in the engine is missing.
Him: Hmm.
Me: Wait. (Still hearing how it sounds.) I don’t mean any of the parts of the engine are actually missing.
Him: Okay…
Me: (Now sweating.) To be clear, all the parts are still there.
Him: Right.
Me: Here’s what I’m trying to say. (Hoping to find it along the way.) One of the engine parts is “missing” as in it is not working right. Because when the engine runs, something is missing.
Him: Right.
Me: Like, misfiring or something. That’s it! (Finding my rhythm at last.) A part in the engine—that is all still definitely there—is misfiring! If that’s the best way to say that.
We laugh, but honestly, every conversation is essentially a first draft.
If we could go back and do it all over again better, we would.
And next time my engine is missing, I will.
I hate talking to mechanics because I never know what I’m saying and I feel so dumb. I’ve taken to getting video of weird sounds.
"Every conversation is essentially a first draft" = the bane of every autistic person's social existence.
This post is hilariously and painfully true.