[Today’s story is long. You’ve been warned! I’m in no shape for tight editing. As Mark Twain once said: “I didn’t have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.”]
[Also, it’s never my intention to mire people from real life in the online world. I’ve changed as many details as necessary to preserve everyone’s privacy. Everyone I met was kind and generous. Take heart! Good helpful people are out there! I was rescued when I was down. People to whom I was a perfect stranger showed nothing but goodwill! And I reciprocate.]
I was stuck in the parking lot of an auto parts store with an inert Dodge. There was hardly a customer in sight. There were a few people “hanging around”.
Mrs. Curmudgeon remained in the passenger seat and carefully ignored everything. From her point of view, trucks are guy things and she’s not a guy. My truck was my problem. She also figures I’m basically unkillable and she’s usually right. Invariably I’ll solve anything and I’ve had dead truck situations before many times. In my defense, this time I was in uniquely bad mental shape. Mrs. Curmudgeon had faith and let it ride. She started reading her kindle and would continue reading it even if lions attacked me in the parking lot. Wise woman.
Unbeknownst to me the “hanging around” folks were a tight nit group. Closer to a “clan” than acquaintances. They knew each other, had known each other forever, and had ties of friendship and family. They were absolutely great people!
Barb [not her real name] assessed that me and the Dodge were out of options (perhaps she sensed I was out of energy?). She rolled into action like a general mustering a chaotic and talkative army of forces. I think Barb decided I’m “good people”? Regardless, I was instantly accepted as an unofficial part of the “clan”… from that moment forward everyone pitched in to help.
Some random guy [I’ll call him Paul] joshed me about my Dodge. I was confused because this was not for the obvious fact that the damn thing can barely maintain basic steering geometry. Nor for the still smoking brake caliper. Instead he mocked that the Cummins engine had a turbo… which is weird because damn near every diesel in the last 25 years has a turbo. (I had a naturally aspirated 6.2 Diesel vehicle once. I loved it but driving it reminded me why turbos were invented.)
Paul decided the front tire needed to come off. I agreed because that’s the only way to fix a stuck caliper. I mentioned I had insufficient knowledge to actually swap the caliper (and all my tools were at home). Paul ignored my reasoning. He was so upbeat and motivated I just went with it.
I handed him the truck’s jack. I’ve jacked up the rear axle a million times but never the front. Paul placed the jack in what looked to me like a weird place and started cranking. Seeing as he was helping and I was completely out of steam, I just let it go. Mrs. Curmudgeon sat in the slowly tilting truck as if denial was the best choice of her very few options. Which it probably was.
Meanwhile, Barb was calling every mechanic in the known universe. It was a Saturday afternoon and the shops were all closed. It didn’t take long before she switched from calling companies to people. She knew everyone everywhere who’d ever touched a wrench and she seemed to be calling them all.
A woman [I’ll call her Sue] showed up. She, like Barb and Paul, was part of the clan. I was unclear if she was working at the parts store or just spontaneously generated from the space time continuum. For that matter I didn’t know why Paul was hanging around.
Paul cranked on the jack until we discovered it couldn’t lift the truck high enough. Sue kept up a running commentary about how her truck was dead in a nearby Walmart parking lot. I got a little confused by what was going on. It was hot and I’m not mentally firing on all cylinders.
Barb kept making phone calls. Energizer bunny dedication from her!
Paul repositioned the jack in a different spot. It still looked sketchy to me but I was in no condition to debate. He added a small scrap of 2″x4” and cranked it up. Barb was giving periodic “phone reports”. I was fading in the heat. I made sure to buy a cold drink for Mrs. Curmudgeon, she was riding the front seat of a Dodge as it cranked up and down. She was just as sweaty as me but she wasn’t in a mood to stand in the parking lot (which was maybe a few degrees cooler).
The jack still wasn’t tall enough. We cranked it back down. I took the opportunity to loosen the lug nuts while the wheel was back on pavement. Barb had joined us again and many cigarettes were smoked. (I don’t smoke but I’m not some asshole who bitches about cigarettes either. I was more concerned about roasting in the sun than the cloud of smoke coming from Barb, Paul, and Sue.) During this time I heard everyone’s life story.
Sue mentioned her “collector’s cars” and showed me a photo of two VW Beetles that are not going anywhere without a whole lot of work. I like Beetles… I’ve always wanted a sand rail. Paul opined that his Pontiac was better than anything with a turbo and waved at a battered old Pontiac in the parking lot. Given that Sue and I both had vehicles that couldn’t move under their own power, I couldn’t disagree.
The jack was cranked back up, this time with two bits of wood… getting a little more like Jenga each time. Mrs. Curmudgeon ignored it. I heard all sorts of family details about people I’d never met.
An actual customer showed up! He had a truck that ran. I missed being like that. Turns out he was of the group too! They all chatted merrily like lifetime friends, which I’m sure they were. Paul borrowed my tire iron to go do something to the other truck. By now I was clearly not in control of anything. I could only wonder what he’d be doing with a tire iron to a truck that didn’t have a flat tire.
Somehow I ended up under the customer’s truck peering at an inverted gooseneck hitch release mechanism. I have the same thing on my truck bed but it functions differently. Since mine is different I didn’t have any helpful information about this one. At least I tried. The customer hung around chatting a while and then left.
Barb was still making calls. Paul bitched at Barb that my jack sucked. (As if it was Barb’s fault?) After a few more cigarettes and some dirty jokes, a little hydraulic floor jack was procured from Barb’s car. Barb’s car was just as battered as Paul’s car… and both were superior to my Dodge in that they both ran.
I began to wish I’d brought a lawnchair. Mrs. Curmudgeon sat reading in an insufficiently tilted Dodge as we cranked it up and down. I was hot. A cold beer would be nice. I mentioned this and inadvertently generated a bunch of drinking stories.
I figured Bud Light is no longer the choice of this group. It took me a while to derive the alternative; Miller Highlife. We all made many jokes about “the Champaign of beers”.
I found a camping stool in my truck. I decided all hope was lost and wondered if I ought to drink a six pack in the parking lot. Maybe pass out with heat stroke? Embrace the suck as God intended? Why the hell not? Passing out in a parking lot had a certain attractiveness to it. I’ve done it before… decades ago… with other cars that had died.
Beer was a risky thought! I was so weak that if I so much as sipped anything I’d be asleep on the pavement within minutes. That would royally piss off Mrs. Curmudgeon!
Predictably the little hydraulic jack didn’t lift far enough. I released it which dropped the truck abruptly enough to cause Mrs. Curmudgeon to grunt with concern… then return instantly to her book. Paul started stacking wood blocks and I called a halt to our game. “Let’s go inside and maybe I’ll buy a new jack.” I felt like sooner or later we’d stack something too high and tear the heck out of the truck when it fell off a Jenga pile. In the auto parts shop the appropriate jack was $300! I said I had towing attached to my truck insurance and that’s cheaper than $300. Mrs. Curmudgeon started trying to figure out the “username and password” to the infernal insurance company software.
Even if a tow truck arrived I had no place to which I could have the vehicle towed. Barb arrived with news. Some guy could fix the truck the next day if I could get it to his place on a tow truck! Well done!
Barb wasn’t entirely pleased, she expected it to be fixed fast enough that I could drive home in my own vehicle. Such a thought is awesome but also something less common in modern life.
I was about to setup an insurance company based tow, entirely within software… which would surely leave us sitting for hours… when Barb came out again and held a cell phone to my ear.
It was a guy I shall refer to as “Based Boss” or BB. He had skills and tools and was willing to use them and that just plain makes him awesome. Based Boss came over the phone “What the hell did you do to Barb? She’s calling me and I’m trying to ignore her but it’s like she’s got the whole world on a mission to hassle me. Ralph is calling me about her calling me. And now Mike called too because he heard from Barb AND Ralph. Is your truck ON FIRE?”
I explained that it was merely a stuck caliper. A very easy fix. I was right at the parts store to get the materials. I had neither the tools nor the skills to do it but I was sure it was not too big of a deal. BB agreed, muttered something about working a zillion hours this week and said he’d be there eventually.
I wasn’t sure BB would show. I sat on my hunting stool and tried not to melt or fall over. Paul and Sue told stories. Barb joined us. I couldn’t help but feel welcome. I was so tired, and depressed, and dehydrated… yet I was surrounded by happy nice people. I heard many stories. Sadly, I remember almost none of them.
BB showed up! He had a truck much like mine but much harder used. Paul taunted him about the turbo (I still don’t get the anti-turbo bias). BB was a core member of my newly discovered “clan”. I’m still not sure if everyone is intermarried or went to school together or what (maybe both). They were all very close. I was ever so thankful for their kindness.
BB had a proper jack (and a truck full of tools). Soon the Dodge (and Mrs. Curmudgeon) were lifted off the pavement. Barb ushered me back into the store to pay for my long forgotten tractor battery and to procure the necessary truck parts. I got all the stuff and brought it to BB who was hammering away at bolts on the tire adapter (duallys have tire adapters on the front to handle dish shaped wheels… they’re quite the PITA). BB insisted I go back inside and put the purchase on his mechanic’s account so I could get a discount. Which Barb did and I saved a lot. I came back out and asked BB if he wanted a cold Miller. BB wanted Crown Royal. After showing up on a Saturday afternoon and saving me a couple hundred off parts I was on board with that request!
I wandered away into the hot city streets, half dazed, dehydrated, and exhausted. I was in search of liquor store within walking distance of my dead truck. Many times I have done the same thing but I was so much younger! I felt like my life had regressed 30 years. Supposedly I’m no longer a broke hopeless youth… yet there I was. When will I get my shit together enough that I no longer must do adventures like this?
By the time I got back, BB had the job half done. Wow! I handed him a bottle of Crown Royal and stashed a suitcase of Miller in Barb’s car (along with her small car jack). I wanted to crack one of the beers but feared I’d fall asleep and/or die.
BB finished the job and I pumped the brakes to bleed the line. He didn’t ask for much and I was super happy to have my truck back. I threw another 10% on the check I cut to him. I told him he’d earned the right to walk around wearing a Superman outfit. Sue started badgering BB to rescue her truck from WalMart. As a skilled man he’s in huge demand. I don’t know if he works 24/7 but I’m damn sure it’s 7!
Barb noticed the beer in her car and asked Mrs. Curmudgeon if she could give me a hug. I didn’t hear that discussion but Mrs. Curmudgeon apparently said I’m not a people person but go ahead and ask. At first I bristled… was this lunatic sexually harassing me? Or just an infernal people person? Either way, ugh…
Anyway I gave Barb a huge hug because why not? I probably needed a hug myself. I’m in mourning and had been cooked 5 hours in a parking lot… even a man who thinks of himself as a lone wolf has limits. We all needs human connection sometimes. Barb gushed that I was a nice guy. Who doesn’t like a compliment like that? Mrs. Curmudgeon explained I was “a bit squishy right now” and I’m usually as cuddly as a porcupine; which is true.
BB shared photos of various classic cars he or friends were repairing. In an absolutely bonkers moment I offered to sell him one of my “yard art” vehicles at a cost of damn near nothing. Yikes! I don’t know where that came from! I have an old truck that I’ll never get back in fighting shape but I can dream can’t I?
I guess I’d decided BB would probably resurrect it in a week and that’s a better owner than me. I’d love to see the vehicle running even if I didn’t do it myself. Mrs. Curmudgeon almost jumped for joy that I was ditching one of my several broken machines. She tried to sell him more of my precious junk. Yikes!
Soon it was closing time. BB rolled off in his functioning truck to rescue Sue’s truck from WalMart. Paul gave Sue a ride to the same location. Barb and her beer headed home. I still don’t know who actually worked at the store (except Barb who had the uniform).
The truck made it home. I made it home. Mrs. Curmudgeon made it home.
I drank what felt like a gallon of water and collapsed for the night. I’d been in no shape for adventure but I’d had one anyway. I’m not a people person but had been in an informal tailgate party for hours. I was exhausted at the molecular level.
So that’s my day, how was yours?