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The car, the locksmith, the kindly cheese steward, and the 96 degrees
Leaving work was a bit more adventurous than desired, but it wasn't as stressful as it could have been. I'd left the office at 4:30 so I could walk over to the campus post office and get a certain package bound for the East into today's mail, and after that I had intended to continue on to the art supply store and shop for D's birthday. I realized, though, that I'd left my "do" list on my desk, with lots of notes written on it, and that B. had my security card, so I'd better get back into the building before it was locked at 5 p.m. This turned out to be a blessing, as I'm not sure I'd have done as well with what followed if I'd walked another 6-8 blocks in the 96-degree weather.
I got my "do" list and got in the car. I put the key in the ignition. I tried to turn the key. And again. And again. And again, until I had developed an ouchie blister on my index finger. So, hmm. I thought maybe I could get some good advice from the nearest mechanics, at the dealership where I'd bought the car, so I walked another three blocks. The dealership, which had been there since before I was born, had moved! So I went to the pay phone outside a nearby upscale supermarket and called AAA and waited for 10 minutes for a guy to tell me he would dispatch a locksmith. So then I went into the store and decided I may as well be festive about this... I bought myself a slice of spanakopita, two fancy juice sodas (a grapefruit one and a clementine one, which I suppose is like tangerine), and a box of English rye crackers, and I let the cheese steward pamper me for a while and set me up with a nice havarti from Salem. So I walked back to the car and tried the ignition again, and then sat on a shady but sparse lawn and ate, while groups of high school cheerleaders went in and out of the dorm building behind me. Finally the guy came. The car started right up for him (naturally), but he said there was a lot of dust inside the ignition, which he sort of rinsed out with some lubricant. I suppose it's okay now.
My new friend Chiquita (see yesterday's post):
I got my "do" list and got in the car. I put the key in the ignition. I tried to turn the key. And again. And again. And again, until I had developed an ouchie blister on my index finger. So, hmm. I thought maybe I could get some good advice from the nearest mechanics, at the dealership where I'd bought the car, so I walked another three blocks. The dealership, which had been there since before I was born, had moved! So I went to the pay phone outside a nearby upscale supermarket and called AAA and waited for 10 minutes for a guy to tell me he would dispatch a locksmith. So then I went into the store and decided I may as well be festive about this... I bought myself a slice of spanakopita, two fancy juice sodas (a grapefruit one and a clementine one, which I suppose is like tangerine), and a box of English rye crackers, and I let the cheese steward pamper me for a while and set me up with a nice havarti from Salem. So I walked back to the car and tried the ignition again, and then sat on a shady but sparse lawn and ate, while groups of high school cheerleaders went in and out of the dorm building behind me. Finally the guy came. The car started right up for him (naturally), but he said there was a lot of dust inside the ignition, which he sort of rinsed out with some lubricant. I suppose it's okay now.
My new friend Chiquita (see yesterday's post):