One of those days

Just the phrase “one of those days” tells everything a person needs to know about the tone of the story that follows. Everybody has “one of those days”, some people always look like they are having "one of those days”, and many people spend a lot of their time trying to avoid having "one of those days”.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Like all of those days, it started out innocently enough. I was privileged enough to have been invited to the graduation of a former student, and looked forward to the trip. It was a lovely drive, and I didn’t get lost once. The ceremony was outdoors and, while warm, very nice. The students were, typically, more entertaining than the head of school (who gave a fairly depressing speech, all about the dark uncertainty of the times we live in), and there was a reception of sandwiches, pasta salad, and cookies afterwards. I greeted the family, gave my hugs to the graduate, and after a while, headed out.

On the way back, I decided to be smart and listen to the traffic report. Good thing too: there was an accident at the exit I needed to take, and traffic was blocked for miles. So I got off the highway early.

Now, mind you, this is not a highway I normally travel on. In fact, I don’t think it’s a highway I’ve ever traveled on. So, in choosing to get off early, I made what I thought was a wise decision: I picked an exit whose name sounded familiar.

Those who know me know that this is typical Michael-logic.

I picked the “Neshaminy” exit, because I had once heard of the Neshaminyville Mall. Thinking back on it, I believe the reason I’ve heard of it is from those car ads that are yelled at you from the radio. But it seemed like a good idea at the time, and as I wasn’t in any rush anyway, it turned out not to be so bad.

Keith would disagree. Keith is detail oriented, and anything that wastes time, space, or resources is an annoyance to him. So the fact that I didn’t use a map, the fact that I didn’t ask for directions, the fact that I got off the highway in an area that is totally unknown to me and decided to “wing it” probably bothers him to no end. The fact that I came from Newtown, got off at Neshaminy, and stumbled across Street Rd (a name I recognized, so why not follow it?) and took it to 309 (another route I recognized), the fact that I did all this instead of something more efficient drives him nuts and causes him to shake his head and cluck his tongue at me.

But it didn’t bother me, because I have a half-decent direction sense, and I knew basically where I wanted to go and which direction it was in, if not precisely which roads I needed to use to get there, and I was in no rush. And get there I did. I arrived at the intersection of Rt 309 and Rt 202, an intersection I knew. And behold, upon that intersection lay a gas station, and in the front of that gas station/convenience store was a banner that said, “Free soda and chips.” Well, I was hot and dehydrated, and free is a good price, so I pulled in. There were no parking spots, so I pulled into the business next door and shut off the car. That was the mistake of the day.

After getting my soda, I returned to my car to find it would not start. Nothing. Not a rev or a “grrr” or anything. Just a click and a hum. No problem, I’ve got jumper cables. So I go into the business I’m parked in front of to find someone to give me a jump. No one has a car. Back to the convenience store. Found a guy. Come back. Hook up the cables. Try the ignition: no go.

So he tells me there’s a Pep Boys about half a mile away. In yesterday’s weather (117° in the shade, 147% humidity) that wasn’t an entertaining thought, but I decided, what the hell. So I walk it. Arriving there, I describe my problem to the mechanic, and he suggests I bring the battery in to be tested first. Great. Now I have to walk back, remove the battery using nothing but my pocketknife, lug it back here, then haul it back and re-install it.

But wait! Inspiration strikes! Using the handy cell phone that I had previously sworn never to use (and now I swear, I’m getting one of my own), I call home to find that Keith and Jon are headed this way anyway. Yes, they can come this direction, yes, they can bring the toolbox, and yes, they can bring me and the battery to Pep Boys and back.

They arrive and we head back to the place where the car is parked….

Oh, haven’t I mentioned where the car is parked? No? I neglected that? Hmm, I suppose I should mention it. Ok, kids, cover your ears. Parents, turn the computer screen away from the young ones. Because yours truly chose to park (and break down) in the parking lot of Adult World. Yes, Adult World, conveniently located at the intersection of Rts 309 and 202, ready to serve all your video and pornographic toy needs. Special on DVDs, 2 for $15, all credit cards accepted, help wanted, apply within.

So we head back to Adult World. We take the battery out. Now listen carefully….three guys, one of whom is black with dreadlocks, are in the parking lot of an adult video store taking a battery from under the hood of a car and stashing it in the trunk of a second car. Fortunately, the police car didn’t do a drive-by until a moment after the trunk was closed (yes, I swear this is true).

By the way, taking the battery out wasn’t that easy. The bolts holding it in were rusted, and quite a bit of banging on them took place before even one of them moved. Jon regretted not bringing the WD-40, and I followed that up with a suggestion that we could probably purchase lubrication inside Adult World, but that was quickly overruled.

Back to Pep Boys, check the charge on the battery, prognosis is good (and bad). Good, because I don’t have to buy a new battery. Bad, because something else is the cause of the problem. So “Dave”, the sales guy, suggests I talk to “Lou”, the mechanic guy. (I put these names in quotes because nobody really knows who they are…the nametags mean nothing. I worked at a restaurant where, when you arrived, you just took a nametag out of a drawer and wore it whether it had your name or not. For three days I was “Sally”.) So “Lou” listens to my description and says, “Oh, that might be the starter. Find the solenoid on the starter and…” and I stopped him right there. I said, “Ok, I know from physics class what a solenoid is, and I can guess what the starter does, but I haven’t a clue what they look like or where to find them.” So he pulls out a box and shows me a brand new starter. It looks like the main engine for the space shuttle, and the solenoid is a brass cylinder mounted on the side of it. But he can’t tell me where in the car it is, even knowing the make and model. Apparently it’s a trade secret or something. So then I ask him, once I’ve found the solenoid, what do I do with it? And he says (no joke, this is word for word), “Oh, just give it a whack with a hammer or something, and it should start right up.”

Give it a whack? I came to Pep Boys, the king of automotive repair, where the store is lined with boxes of things I can’t pronounce and gadgets straight from a sci-fi movie, and this guy tells me to “give it a whack”? He looked at me strange, and I probably deserved it because by now I was giggling at everything (a half-mile in the sun will do that to you).

Back to Adult World, where except for me the parking lot has emptied out. (Although while we were there, I noticed a surprising number of women visit Adult World. I’ll have to ruminate on this in a later post.) Reinstall the battery. Now it’s time to find the starter.

In the next 10 minutes, my friends heard curses come out of my mouth that they’ve never heard me say before. Needless to say, I didn’t have a clue where it was.

Then…brilliant epiphany! My friend Tim is a mechanic and owns the exact same car, just a year older. I call and ask him about this. He describes the position of the solenoid, and check this out: it looks nothing like the mechanic described it. Not one bit. Thanks a lot, Lou.

And now, finally, came the only thing I did all day that made me feel smart. I took a look at the solenoid and said, “Hey, look! A wire’s loose!”

And then I drove to my friend’s house to relax. It’s really the only thing to do when you’re having one of those days.