Photo by Janko Ferlic on Unsplash
On a wet spring day in 1991, I waited for my old beast to be repaired. I had been there for twenty minutes when a mechanic walked into the waiting area with parts in each hand. His expression was a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Found your problem. This motor runs, well used to run, your wipers. It fell apart as I took it out. There’s no saving it.” He chuckled. “The good news despite it being a ‘74 we can get the part, but it won’t arrive for several hours. We’ll get you back on the road before closing time.” He turned back towards the garage shaking his head as he walked away.
Since it was only ten in the morning and they closed at six, this wasn’t the best news. Eight hours was a huge window. There was no restaurant or even fast food within walking distance. I will likely be very hungry by the time my car is ready.
“Man that sucks. Glad I’m just here for an oil change,” said a guy sitting two seats over.