Swedish candy pushers

Transferred from myspace. Originally posted Septemeber 22, 2007

I have a lovely Swedish SUV that I call Elsa von Nordland. Elsa has lots of bells and whistles, including a lovely little message center that tells me random things I should know, like "Time for Regular Service." This is a nice feature because I no longer have to look up at the little sticker they place inside the windshield and think "Crap, I was due for an oil change 2000 miles ago." Elsa's service message came on the other day and yesterday I schlepped over to the local Swedish dealership (32 miles away) to get her oil changed. I spoke with one of the check in people and told him I did not have 3 hours to sit there waiting for an oil change (this is a total lie; I had all the time in the world, I just didn't want to sit there watching Judy Judy or Judge Roy Brown or some other show where stupid people sue each other for being stupid on the dealerships 5 foot plasma screen). Sean (that's his name) promised me they'd have me out in an hour and a half. Elsa's oil changes are something serious and involve far more than just oil apparently. I don't know exactly what, but I get a big long list of things they've done to her when I get the keys.
I sat in the waiting area watching not a "legal" show, but a rerun of The Price Is Right (thanks to an elderly lady who commandeered the remote) and the clock. At 12 (an hour and half after I arrived, SEAN) Elsa was not ready. Quelle surprise. I checked on her and was told it would only be a "little" longer. Ha! At 12:30, Elsa was still not ready and my stomach was sending out some serious messages to me and everyone within a 3 feet radius that it was HUNGRY. Grrrrrrr! It was like Audrey 2 was belting out "Feed me, Seymour" from my torso. Now, I should say that this Swedish dealership will give you candy if you want it. I'm not talking about that bowl of stale candy everyone sticks their grubby paws into and germing it up. Oh, no. They give you movie sized packages of real candy: M&M's (plain or peanut), Twizzlers, Skittles, Peppermint Patties, Mars bars or 3 different varieties of gum. And, they'll give you all you want. ALL. YOU. WANT. Also, they keep trying to give it to you, and if you don't take it, you are offending their Swedish sensitivity. Every 10-15 minutes, someone will walk through the waiting area and ask if you'd like some candy. Here's approximately what happened:

Dealership lady: You vould like some candy, ya?
Me: No thank you.
Dealership lady: Of course you vould. Here haf some. All you vant.
Me: Really, no, I don't want any.
Dealership lady: (Eying me warily) Vell, I'll check on you in a vile zen.

Fifteen minutes later:

Dealership lady: (who has head my stomach grumbling all the way from the glassed in office she sits in watching those of us in the waiting room, like some weird goldfish) You are hungry, ya? I still haf candy.
Me: I know. No thank you.
Dealership lady: (Dangling a bag of peanut M&M's in front of me) Eet it delicious!
Me: (Staring longingly at the 240 calorie pack of peanuty chocolatey goodness) Go away! I don't want your evil candy!
Dealership lady: You do!
Me: What is it with you people and your candy?
Dealership lady: Candy makes people happy. It is a fact.
Me: Well, it doesn't make me happy. I don't want it! (This is a total lie. Candy does make me happy)
Dealership lady: You vill! (Backs away laughing maniacally and shaking the bag at me)

Okay, maybe it didn't go down exactly like that (and don't ask why she had a German accent, instead of a Swedish one), but in my mind it totally did.
Anyway, for someone who's maintaining 1500 calories a day (which is HARD), one movie sized packet of candy can completely ruin it and send me into a tailspin of sugar and guilt. And apparently just thinking about it made me imagine some sort of crazy candy pushing fantasy.
At 1pm (1pm, SEAN-2 ½ hours after I arrived, SEAN) I was finally told Elsa Von Nordland was being washed (she loves a good wash) and would be brought around in a few minutes. I went up to the little glassed in desk (why the glass? I want to know) to sign my paperwork. The very nice lady (behind the glass) asked me yet again if I'd like some candy ("You know you vant it.") Oh, how I wanted that candy. I could almost taste it. I could feel the delicious candy coating melting in my mouth (not in my hands) making way for explosion of chocolate and peanut. My hands shook as I signed the payment slip and stared down the candy lady. Her eyes bore into mine. She knew how I wanted that candy. A mechanic came walking up and told me Elsa was sitting out front ready to go and I looked at the candy display one more time behind the glass. It called to me; mocked me; begged me. The candy lady held up a bag of M&M's (she's seen me staring longingly at the 2 foot, cardboard blue M&M who smiled so innocuously) and I shook my head turning away before I gave in. As I reached the front door, my stomach (which had been eyeing my liver), let out another rumble and I heard her mutter "You'll be back. Only 7000 miles and and ve'll see you again. You'll get some candy zen. Oh ya." Damn.