Dad, Stop Taking My Picture!
Dad, Stop Taking My Picture!
One of the joys of owning vehicles that are older than my children, is the knowledge that I saved a bundle on the purchase price. One of the drawbacks, however, is the randomness of impromptu repairs… like say after a late evening Little League game, in the parking lot, with a flat tire… and me without a clue.
…the universe, however threw me a bone…
These things always seem to happen on summer vacations. They never seem to happen when the time is allotted to our capitalist overlords.. er I mean “work”. These things also always happen when you are completely unprepared. No jack, no tools to release the spare from the undercarriage of the van, and worst of all no portable air compressor. I have two, one for each vehicle, and where were they both? Yep, in the other car. Don’t ask me why, I don’t have sufficient training in quantum physics nor psychology to explain it with any accuracy.
So what to do? RING-RING. “Honey, can you come and rescue me and the boy? Bring the air compressors, pretty please? Yes, I broke the van again.” It also only breaks when I drive it. How’s that for summer fun?
The better half arrived, compressor fixed - if only temporarily - the slow leak, and she and the kids took off in her van so I wouldn’t have an opportunity to break it more. I got to drive my old beater home alone in the dark of night. Could it get any worse? The universe, however threw me a bone. In the glove box of my car was a cigar. I had the night, Jazz on the radio and a semi-fine smoke. Sometimes things do work out after all.
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