And once again...

I dreamed that I was summoned back to Yuba City Honda. I got a phone call from Reiner asking me to come down because "We like having you around." This should have clued me in that I was dreaming, his being so uncharacteristically nice, but I showed up nonetheless.

I was wearing shorts and a hoodie rather than my work uniform when Reiner met me in the service drive.

"Looking good, Drew," he said, as I bounded past him with a spring in my step.

I went out to the shop and found that the layout had changed. There were a lot more couches than one would expect, and my toolbox was already set up for me with an I pad and a barstool. They must have remembered how much I use to like to sit and surf the internet during the many slow times. 

I opened one of the drawers of the toolbox, and it was filled with an inventory of new parts, the kind typically left over from warranty repairs, where extra parts were handed out like candy. Gaskets, headlamp bulbs, clips and connectors, anything that could prove useful to a future repair, we would squirrel away, trading them like currency with other mechanics who might find themselves in a pickle.

"I remember they used to do random searches," I said to the other employee on duty with me. "If they found a stash such as this, it would be repoed on the spot, and we'd be reprimanded for stealing."

But I was talking to no one, as the other employee had wandered off. Come to think of it, this whole shop was empty, and there didn't seem to be a lot of work to be done. There were no cars, and the service bays and lifts were suspiciously missing. 

I found a red envelope addressed to me on the break room table. It was from my dad. I opened it and found that it contained a check for $300. That was odd, I thought, as in real life, he had just sent me one for $250. Perhaps he was trying to incrementally divest himself of these funds as a premature inheritance. 

Along with the envelope was a small package, also from Dad, so I opened it eagerly. It was a bar of soap. I instinctively put it to my nose and inhaled the minty pine scented bath product. It had a "dad" smell. This gift was intended to make me to think of him when doing something so basic as "washing up for dinner," something I never quite understood the need for when he used to insist that I do so as a child. No matter, it smelled nice, and I could forgive the late life pedantry.

Still wondering about the lack of work, and feeling a little guilty for having zero responsibilities, I wandered back toward the service office. Certainly, they were expecting something out of me, and figured I'd better find out what it was before I was canned. It was nighttime, so perhaps I was on  janitorial duty, with the occasional smog inspection for people who might find it easier to come in after hours. This would explain the shortage of other staff.

As I made my way through the plushly decorated shop space, it occurred to me that this would be an excellent place to hold band practice. I made a mental note to inquire of Reiner about possibly starting a speed metal band, and setting up our equipment in the shop. 

I opened the door to the service department and was greeted by the rest of the missing staff. It seemed that everyone I knew was there, all of them lounging on couches or chatting in small groups. I asked what the occasion was.

"It's Jimmy's retirement party," Reiner said, pointing to an older member of the sales staff.

Suddenly, it all made sense. I wasn't being summoned back to work. This was a belated sendoff. Although the party wasn't for me, since the policy had been adopted after I'd already departed, they had decided to invite me so that I could gain closure from the event as well. I gave up the idea of the speed metal band and joined in round of "for he's a jolly good fellow" for Jimmy.