I’m breezin’ my way through the last day’s chores, drop the key off at the lawyer’s, take a box of non-perishables to the food bank, return library books… we’re busy, but accomplishing things more or less on schedule.
Then we drop a load of stuff off at the Goodwill, and the car won’t restart. I sit there totally stunned. In a bizarre stroke of luck, I hear a familiar voice – behind me in the Goodwill lot is one of our neighbours. He recommends a garage that’s just across the street! Okay, so maybe my luck isn’t so bad.
The Volvo needs a new alternator. But I wanted to leave town in about two hours! The Boss and I leave the car behind and walk home. Oh wait, did I mention it is hot? Brutally, blazingly, scorchingly, brain-sizzlingly hot?
We stop along the way for lunch. The Boss is ecstatic at the prospect of food from the 7-11. (No sarcasm here. She is 6, eminently capable of excitement over such a thing.) As we sit on the curb with our hot dogs (oorg) I had to reflect that this whole episode might be considered more of an adventure than a disaster. Well, you have to think so on a day like that, really, just to stay sane.
And, after all, my car broke down in town, mere yards from an excellent garage, instead of somewhere in the barrens of northern Ontario. That ain’t so unlucky.
Anyway, in a mere two hours I’m back at Dublin Motors and Mack-with-the-real-Irish-accent hands me back my keys. The car is fixed.
“I hear you’re leavin’ town today,” says he.
“Yeah. We’re driving to B.C.” says I.
“Wha? In the Volvo?” he asks, incredulous.
“Ah geez. (sympathetic pause) Well, good luck to yeh then.”
(The automotive snafu, painless as it was, was just another reason for our last day going off the rails, time-wise.)
(And, by the by, our 20-year-old car operated flawlessly for, oh, the next two thousand miles or so!)