Un-favor-able

I am the victim of a favor.

Actually, let me rephrase that...I am a victim of my own sense of duty and obligation. The favor is simply the rope; I bound myself up in it like a Criss Angel stunt. Unfortunately it is no illusion, and I don't have the skill to get out of it gracefully.

I have to admit, I was excited when my friend called me up last week. She was planning to get tickets to a blues show. She wanted to take her boyfriend, but he's a rocker and a huge baby when it comes to music that isn't his. "He'll just whine and make me miserable, I just know it....blah, blah, blah." I wasn't paying much attention to the conversation until she said two words: "Etta James." Holy sh_t! I didn't even know she still toured. So when the offer came for a free ticket, I grabbed it faster than Lindsay Lohan grabs a vodka and Red Bull. "At Last", I was going to see the great lady herself.

Now my friend was at pains to tell me how expensive these tickets are, but that it was her treat. "Wonderful," I said, and waited for the other shoe to drop. I am well aware that there is no such thing as a free lunch. But the other shoe turned out to be a slipper, not a work boot. I just had to provide the picnic dinner, and since I love to cook, this looks like a win-win.

Smash cut to this week, and a host of plot developments that did not rear their ugly heads until Wednesday. For example, never having been there before, I assumed Chastain was somewhere in Midtown. It's not. It is actually a good 45 minutes away from where I work, and that is assuming Atlanta traffic moves its collective ass. Which, again, I thought was not too big a deal, because I assumed that my friend was driving, which she usually does when we go places together. Again, my assumption was wrong. She does not want to leave work early to pick me up. So I have to drive. Which may be a problem, because I had to leave my poor car in the mercenary hands of the Saturn dealership again today.

Not to worry, says my friend. "Just have someone drive you up to Roswell Road and leave you at the grocery store there. I'll pick you up." Uh-huh. Have someone leave me in a parking lot. In a strange neighborhood. At night. Ri-iiight.

Now, as I said, all of these revelations came to light yesterday in the conversation I had with my friend. When I saw the huge magilla this was turning out to be, I offered to find someone to take my place. "Noooooooo! I don't want to go with a stranger. I want yoooou to goooo!." Hmmm. Not enough to disrupt her day to come get me, but okay.

This is the thing that always sucks when someone wants to 'do you a favor.' When it comes out of the blue like that, it almost always is actually a favor they are doing themselves, disguised as manna from heaven for you. So let's see: she gets company for the show, a gourmet picnic dinner with wine, and the chance to go about her day without a bleep on her radar. I get the stress of worrying about a car repair; how I'm going to get to the concert, if I can go at all; how I can pay her back for the ticket if I can't make it; what I'm going to do with all the picnic food I spent next week's gas money on; and, how I am going to find the venue, provided my car does get sprung before quitting time. So much for the win-win. This is more of a win-'good lord if one more thing happens I am going to go postal'.

And after all of this, the main reason I wanted to go, to see the great Etta James, is out the window. Or I should say, in bed, as Etta James is in the hospital for complications following surgery and won't be joining the tour. Chakka Khan is taking her place till August or later. Chakka Khan???!! I'm going through all of this nonsense to be rocked by Chakka Khan????!!

So, using my life as the example for today's lesson, what have we learned boys and girls? If one of your friends offers to sell you his used Chevy Cavalier, examine it carefully. But if he offers to give it to you, run. There's probably a bomb under it.