But how did he know?
My local mechanic doesn’t see the world with the same view as me. Today, while showing off our “new rig”, he noted a) the extra battery b) that was not connected and that c) required a 10mm wrench to complete the connection. Heck, I hadn’t even popped the hood latch, despite a whole summer of opportunity.
And how did he know 10mm? I went straight to the toolbox and proudly found my appropriate socket (which wouldn’t fit, due to it being too long). I went to Plan B, with a pair of pliers (the tool that mechanics scorn by birthright) and made a haphazard attempt to apply “righty-tighty-lefty-loosy” logic. He finally took mercy on me, declared things to be sufficiently snug, and life continued. But how did he even know? I also have to read up on something called exhaust fluid; not a joke to those who deal with Diesels.
Maybe we should just feign a desire to travel. Safety in familiar surroundings, etc. We could make the occasional run down to Montague The Beautiful and pretend that the 19th and 20th centuries hadn’t happened yet. It’s a good thing that we believe in the advertising of the Auto Club. The mechanic is driving the rig, this afternoon, as an acid test.
This morning was our chance to attend another community brunch. The first time our household contributed food (quiches from the humble kitchen). I ate well, as the menu was broad and delicious. No Big Mac moments, when those who spend their life under the umbrella of the WI are in charge of things. Of course, I’m back to normal food tomorrow. Sigh.
