June 17, 2011
Dear Everyone:
I’ve always been pretty good about taking care of
my car. Took it into the
dealer for regular maintenance before the “idiot light” indicated that
it was overdue. Replaced the
tires and battery after five years, regular as clockwork.
Except I had to replace the battery after only
three years when it abruptly died in a shopping center parking lot one
summer. As a rule, batteries
last about five years, unless you subject them to really hot summers.
Around here, we had some really hot summers.
So, new battery after only three years.
Nevertheless, I should have invested in new tires
in 2009, when the car officially became five years old.
I didn’t. Can’t think
why. Thought never entered
my head. I did think about
the tires every so often; like, “Hey, did I remember to replace those
tires after five years?”
Truth is, I wasn’t driving as much as I had in times past.
All part of that “getting older” thing, I guess.
When it came to routine maintenance, I was much
more conscientious. I had a
reminder set up in my calendar task list at work that would pop up every
six months, or so. Until
last December, when I sort of “checked out” of everything.
I knew that maintenance was “due” around
February, but I wasn’t up for it.
I decided to wait until I was back in the office, which
facilitated the whole “courtesy shuttle” thing.
So, about a week ago, I went online and scheduled maintenance.
I even called the dealer to confirm that they did, indeed, still
offer the “courtesy shuttle” service.
Everything was going fine until last Tuesday
afternoon, when I was on my way from the office to
Physical Therapy.
I got into the car, pulled out of the parking space, then
stopped. Something Was
Wrong. Put the brake on and
got out of the car. The left
front tire was definitely flat.
So much for Physical Therapy.
I went back into the office and called the Rehab
Center to let them know that I would not be able to make my appointment
(don’t know yet if they went ahead and charged me for it anyway.)
Then called the Auto Club.
Got the usual person in a call center God Knows
Where. Tried explaining that
“Company Park” is a business park with no visible address and I’m in
parking lot number whatever opposite Building “G”.
The person on the phone assured me that help would arrive in
about an hour.
Because I had expected to attend Physical Therapy
that day, I had my bag in the car.
The bag contained: A
pair of shorts; a pair of shoes and stockings; a folder with the latest
versions of my exercises and some other papers, including the phone
number to call if I couldn’t make an appointment; a book to read while
waiting for my therapist.
I got out the book.
I also raised the trunk and hood covers to indicate “assistance
needed”. Several people
stopped in the parking lot to make sure that I was OK, even though they
couldn’t really do anything.
Then, a miracle happened:
The tow truck drove up in just under 15 minutes from my initial
call. Turns out the driver
not only knew what “Company Park” meant, he was right next door (at the
next business park) when the call came in.
He had the spare tire in place and was on to his next call in
under 30 minutes!
And I already had an appointment to have the car
serviced the very next day.
Of course, it costs more to have the tires replaced by the dealer
instead of at any one of a number of “discount stores”.
In this case, convenience trumped discount.
I even had a coupon, so I got the tires for around $100 less than
“usual”.
In the meantime, I still had a piece of “exercise
equipment” on loan from the Rehab Center.
I had planned to return it on Tuesday.
It consists of two
telephone directories
duct-taped together.
The idea is, you stand on the “step” and practice stepping down,
hopefully while hanging onto a sturdy piece of furniture.
When I got the thing home, I immediately began to
search for something to use for myself.
I had a telephone directory, still in the plastic bag, that had
been left on my doorstep months earlier.
At the time, I thought, “Oh, great.
One more trip to the Recycle Bin.”
In fact, I read somewhere in the news that someone was trying to
pass legislation to make the people who supply these directories pay for
recycling in some way.
I had about half what I needed to make an
“exercise step”. I looked in
the second bedroom for any more telephone directories.
This room is the “guest room”, “home office”, “home library”, and
“catchall room”. Like
“Jeannie’s” garage, it is the “really BIG closet”.
No phone directories, but I did spot an unopened
ream of printer paper. That,
plus the existing directory, added up to the right height for a “step”.
Think about it: Where
else can you find a piece of “exercise equipment” that retails for less
than $6.00?
As for the unopened ream of paper from the
printer station at work:
It’s not “missing”. It’s
right under my desk, along with an outdated software book.
Again, the price is right.
I’ll return it in a few weeks when I cease to be employed.
In other news…
“Jeannie” and I
actually went to a movie together last weekend.
And no, I don’t know how long it’s been since we did that.
The movie,
Super 8, is
a tribute to all the Saturday afternoon “B”
science fiction movies that
we never saw at the theaters.
There’s even an oblique reference to the
Steve McQueen’s debut
movie, The Blob.
While
J.J. Abrams directed, the film was produced
by Amblin Entertainment,
Steven Spielberg’s production company, so it
has Spielberg’s “fingerprints” all over it.
No matter. It was fun
to sit in the dark and eat popcorn, while watching kids barely in their
teens “save” the town from all the grownups who always think they know
better. Why do you think
those movies were so popular the first time around?
Three and a half weeks left to employment.
Love, as always,
Pete
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