Fb was an inappropriate venue for spending time with myself. I was led here. I may be as surprised as you that I'm here - that is, if you are the surprise-able type. Know that the archives are in chronological order, with most recent posts at the bottom. The readings are the opposite, with the most recent posts at the top. Things may be more clear if you begin at the beginning. But then, why follow convention…do as you please. That's a habit which I'm trying to cultivate even more.
First things first. As I wrote the date above, I realized that is is the day after what would have been my mom and dad's wedding anniversary, had she lived. They were wed in
1955, with me living in my mother a mere three months at the time. The thought of me being present at their wedding - no matter how small I was - brings a smile to my face. They would have been married 60 years. Not quite Bogart and McCall - but still pretty cool in their own way. Next: a car mechanic has appeared. My broker (yes, I now think of him as "my" broker (rather than "the" broker), who was the go-between for my rental apartment), has lived in Tarrytown for 20 years. When I reached the end of
Wednesday, and realized I had forgotten to find a mechanic to look at my "check engine" light which had blinked on as I drove to work that morning, I emailed my broker. Yes, he did know someone he trusted to work on his car. He asked me what time I could go in, how long I could leave it, etc. I'm thinking, "Why doesn't he just give me the name of the place?" No matter - I answered him, and he talked to his mechanic, and then talked to me, and I was told to bring the car in at 11 that day. George (the mechanic) would work me in. It was important to talk to George and tell him that Ricardo sent me. Okies - that's what I did.
I understood once I got there. There was a deli on one side (not George), and a gas station. The pumps are not in this picture which pretty much hide the two bay doors where cars are doctored. There was a very small door on the other end of the building - which was George. It looked like a 2-person gig: a
young man in the front end, and George hidden somewhere in the back. The young man took care of the pump and register/cash (yes, there is actually service at some of the pumps - I haven't yet figured out when to self-serve and when to not) - and George worked on the cars in a little two bay area. I did not see a schedule anywhere. The room was very small. The young man asked me how he could help, and I explained about Ricardo, and the arrangment I'd been told. He took my keys and brought the car around. When George came to meet me, I told him Ricardo sent me - and he smiled and said, "Oh yeah - I talked with him this morning." When I told him that the "check engine" light had come on - and I was afraid that things might be unsafe, he explained that he would have to hook it up to the computer to take a look.
His helper took my car in, then George hooked it up to the computer, and was back out in a few minutes. "There is something wrong in the engine...something with how air is being taken in, perhaps a leak...a hose... somewhere." He spoke English, but it seemed like it was his second language. "Like the carburetor?" I asked. "Oh no," he smiled. "The carburetor? No more. It is past...nor more
since maybe the '80's? Before?" "Oh no," I said sheepishly. "I am showing my age and my ignorance. But something with how the gas and air is mixing, yes." "Yes...maybe a leaky hose...may something loose...it can't be fixed today - I am very busy." "Is it dangerous?" I asked. "No - no danger. But it needs to be fixed." "Can I make an appointment in a few days to have the work done?" His eyes traveled skyward, as if he were looking at the schedule in his brain. He said, "Well...Monday?...Maybe Tuesday? No, I think Monday...Yes, Monday. Bring it in Monday morning and leave it with me. Tell him (pointing to his helper, who was outside)."
I told his helper what George had told me and asked how much I owed. He said, "Whatever he says." He was nodding toward George who was going back to the garage to pull my car out. I asked George what I owed him, and he said, "Well...we'll add it in next Monday...well, $30 - but we'll add it Monday."
I better understood why my broker had to "broker" my appointment. George doesn't keep a written schedule - at
least that's my thinking. I think his helper does some of the details that George can't. I'm not sure how the "pick-up" will go on Monday once George is done - or even if George will have to keep the car until Tuesday. This much I do know: Monday morning, bright and early, I will be in Sleepy Hollow at a gas station that has a small deli on one side (not George), and an inconspicuous garage on the other (George). There are no signs advertising - just a place which may be where the "Pete Conway" of Sleepy Hollow* works his magic.
QUACK-QUACK!!!
*(For readers living in La Crosse, this description will need no explanation. For others, know that Pete Conway was a master mechanic who could fix any car due to his almost god-like ability to trouble-shoot. He and one of his colleagues would ask questions about car sounds and behaviors that one would never thing to listen for or notice - and he was dogged about fixing whatever it was. In addition, he never gouged you. If it didn't need fixing, if it was something you could live with and still be safe driving - Pete would tell you to leave it alone.)
