Conspiracy theories, part the first

There’s nothing like reading the good thick biography of a former president in the Honda dealership to bring out the wackos.

I’m sitting at Crown of Durham/Chapel Hill (who previously used to give good service and now seem to be able to break my car in new and unfortunate ways every time I bring it to them), waiting for the repair that was supposed to be done 2 weeks AND 2 hours ago… and this gentleman walks by to get himself a cup of coffee. He’s wearing a rumpled button-down shirt bearing a name tag, so I assume — from observing this place at close range for many MANY hours now — that he is one of the sales trainees from upstairs in the conference room. I am correct.

He stops at my table, says hello. Polite, that’s a good start. Jovial, though, which at that hour of the morning when I was already disgruntled, was a risky proposition. He points towards the book on the table. “A fan of Clinton?” Uh-oh. Politics at this hour of the morning, by a fat man in a bad suit. Probably not good. I nod. “He’s a very smart man.” He nods too, and I’m a little surprised, so I smile.

“My sister worked with him — well, she works for [ a senator ]. She loves Clinton. They all hate Bush. He’s a moron.”

At first I am startled, then I remember. I look around me at the architect lady, who had been working on a blueprint with her granola sandals and hemp bag. She had granny glasses, a crinkled skirt, and grey hair in a thick braid. I glance at the middle-aged lesbian who had been in front of me in line in her Honda Element. She screamed at the attendant when she was inside, then bussed her daughter and partner before they boarded the shuttle minutes later. Surreal. I check out the young college boy, pretending to do math homework but mostly sizing up the sportscars in the showroom. I’m in Chapel Hill. There are more people who realize Bush is an idiot here. Yes.

He goes on talking about his sister and her political job. I’m certain it might have been interesting, but mostly I was content reading my book and drinking the not-terrible vanilla flavored coffee from the sales floor. (Showroom coffee is always better than the crap they have back in the service waiting area; just a tip.) But then he says something totally interesting.

“[My sister] told me something really strange the other day. She tells me, sometimes, secret stuff that’s going to happen. It’s always been true so far — not a miss, not a one. “

I am really interested now.

“Cheney is off the ticket. October 28 — you can write it down. He’ll have a heart attack, and Bush will say it was a terrible, unforseeable situation, but that he will have to replace Cheney with someone healthy. And he’ll replace him with Guliani, to save the election. But it won’t be real, it’s already planned.”

I must have appeared plainly and firmly doubtful, because he took promptly his leave. He reminded me to write down the date, and went back up the stairs to resume learning how to sell people cars.

But you heard it hear first. 10/28. Cheney fakes a heart attack so Guliani can save the Republican ticket. 2 days before the election.

Or at least that’s what the weirdo at the mechanic said. It can’t actually happen, right?!

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