May 1: Ossenburger, Pot of Dough, Car Repairs

When I lived at Pencey, I lived in the Ossenburger Memorial Wing of the new dorms.  It was only for juniors and seniors.  I was a junior.  My roommate was a senior.  It was named after this guy Ossenburger that went to Pencey.  He made a pot of dough in the undertaking business after he got out of Pencey.  What he did, he started these undertaking parlors all over the country that you could get members of your family buried for about five bucks apiece.  You should see old Ossenburger.  He probably just shoves them in a sack and dumps them in the river.  Anyway, he gave Pencey a pile of dough, and they named our wing after him...

It's no big surprise that Holden thinks Ossenburger is a rich phony bastard.  That term can be applied to practically every adult Holden knows.  Ossenburger's brand of phony has to do with his money, his car, his religious convictions, and his memorial wing.  While Holden comes from a privileged background, he finds wealthy people (like Ossenburger)  inauthentic.  Morally and spiritually bankrupt.

You're probably wondering what I'm going to say about inauthentic, privileged, spiritually bankrupt wealthy people.  Well, I dropped my Ford Freestyle off at the dealership this morning for an oil change, tire rotation, and checkup.  About mid-morning, I received a phone call from "Jeff."  Jeff told me I needed my brake pads and rotors replaced on the rear wheels.  My reaction was pretty simple:  "You have got to be shitting me."  No, Jeff said, unfortunately he wasn't kidding.

I'm going downstate this weekend for my daughter's dance competition.  It's going to be about an 800-mile round trip.  I don't want my brake pads or rotors to fail half-way across the Mackinac Bridge, plunging me over the railing into Lake Michigan.  Therefore, I'm going to end up paying about $400 more than I budgeted for this little visit to the dealership.

What does this have to do with Ossenburger?  Right now, I wish I was Ossenburger.  I want to be an inauthentic, phony bastard.  That's what I wish.  However, I'm not.  I will go to the dealership tonight and pay for my repairs.  I told Jeff, when he phoned, that, for the amount of money I'm going to shell out, he should put some chocolate on the driver's seat, fill up my gas tank, and be prepared to do a pole dance for me.  He laughed.  He thought I was joking.  I wasn't.

The summer of Saint Marty's money worries has begun, and it's only the first day of May.

Brakes AND rotors?