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A coworker picked up a hybrid car over the weekend. This is the same coworker with a gigantic pickup truck that slurps up massive amounts of diesel fuel, and has two wheels on each side on the back. I am told this is called a “diesel double dualie” or something. Anyway, his truck gets horrible mileage and his new car has a readout on the dashboard saying exactly what the miles per gallon are. Currently, this is 50-something MPG. The top (informally tested) speed is 115 MPH. Anyway, this car is great. It is fast, quiet, and gets good mileage. The gasoline engine is a little 3-cylinder thing (kind of like what they have on the Geo Metros, if I remember correctly), but the electric engine runs off of 140 volts and has a Continuously Variable Transmission, so gets a good deal of torque. The only bad thing I have seen so far is that the trunk space is a little smaller than you would expect because a good chunk of it is taken up with extra batteries. In fact, it is less of a trunk and more of a cubby-hole. I thought my trunk was small.

I was strolling into the bank today and this leather-clad biker mamma enters the parking lot. On second glance, I realize that the leather under her bikini IS HER SKIN. Yes, bikini-clad, barefoot, probably 40-ish, looking 80-ish, riding a motorcycle. She was somewhere behind me in line inside the bank and had a bubbily high-pitched voice like a 12 year old girl. Scary, indeed.

Later, at the grocery store, the Muzak system was playing Toad The Wet Sprocket.

Posted in: Dear Diary Work

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