(sometime, december, 2003)
My car is breaking down.
There is a good reason for this: I am a lazy non-mechanic. Actually, that’s the prevailing reason that all of my cars have broken down. That and I have received them ALL at least third hand, from someone who bought them as cheap intermediaries, while their loan was going through (for example).
My car is making a funny noise. A light, high-pitched sort of “ca-chunk, ca-chunk”. It seems to be coming from a fan or vent somewhere in the dashboard directly in front of me. That would be driver’s side, for those of you who are a little slow. The noise probably started a while ago. Chances are, I was playing my radio too loudly to notice it. Or maybe there were other warning signs that I should have noticed, but didn’t. Actually, it’s highly probable that it was BOTH of the above, and that’s why it’s exceptionally hard to tell my dad that there’s something wrong. Well, that and Daylight Savings Time.
You see, my dad gets home from work after 4:00 pm, which in Wisconsin, in December, is after dark. If I were to bring up my car problems after dark, they’d be met with an angry look and an exclamation. I like to avoid that combination whenever possible. So I’m waiting for a time when both of us are home, and it’s light out, to tell him. I’d like to wait for him to be in a good mood, but that’s a bit like having my cake and eating it too (or in my case, owning a vehicle, and having it be reliable).
Before you say anything, I have to get this in. Yes, I DO know that because I haven’t told him, it’s probably getting worse everyday. Oh, I didn’t mention that I’m still driving it? Well, I have to, to get to work, you see. And asking to use my mom’s car would arise immediate suspicion. But don’t worry, it’s only being driven to necessary destinations. Like work. And McDonalds. Hey, a girl’s gotta eat, you know.
Dad has a good reason for the angry face/exclamation. You see, he’s not a mechanic, either. Unfortunately, he happens to be the sort of man who’s really useful in almost all other aspects. He can make incredible things out of wood, he chops wood and mows the lawn for fun, he’s an awesome fix-it man. It’s not his fault that he can’t listen to a car run, and immediately ascertain it’s problem. No one can be Superman in ALL walks of life.
So, I think that tomorrow, I’ll tell him about my little problem. During daylight hours. After I buy him some beer. Hopefully, I can limit his reaction to just an exclamation. Or an angry face. So long as it isn’t both. Let’s just hope my car makes it home tonight. And maybe to McDonalds.