So here I sit in the hot sun, on a greasy chair, in a greasy parking lot, in a really scary side of town, with an ominously sedate and extremely dirty pit bull lying at my feet. The prostitutes are staring at me. And I’ll be here for hours. Just one more curve on my downward spiral, it would seem.
You know, I really try. No one can say any different. I started earning money when I was 10 years old. I am law abiding, I pay my taxes, I’ve never defaulted on a student loan. I give blood. I just gave my 51st microloan to a woman in a 3rd world country.
I just also seem to get ripped off, have my car totaled by a woman who ignores stop signs, choose the wrong thing to study in school, invest my money poorly, and fall in love with someone who then dies. Before his body was even cold, my landlady kicked me out of my apartment. Just when I thought I couldn’t lose any more, I also choose a really, REALLY bad mechanic. So here I sit. With a pit bull.
Things did seem like they were starting to turn around, though. I got this great job offer in Seattle, and when I discovered how outrageously expensive the relocation across the continent was going to be, I did a crowdfunding campaign on Indiegogo. And people have really stepped up. They’ve given me what they could. Strangers. Friends I haven’t seen in decades. Ex-boyfriends. Seriously! Ex-boyfriends. It humbles me. It brings tears to my eyes. But as of this writing, the campaign seems to have come to a grinding halt, far short of my needed goal. And now this. I’m really scared.
Yesterday I decided to get a tune up and an oil change in anticipation of my 3100 mile trip. It was the smart thing to do, I thought. The last thing I need is to get stranded on the side of the road with my dogs in the middle of South Dakota. So I bring it in and they get to work.
Several hundred dollars and several hours later, they tell me all six of my exhaust pipe brackets have broken off, my mufflers are hanging in mid air, and the brackets need to be replaced. 80 more bucks. Has to be done. Go ahead. An hour later they walk in and say, “Can you smell that?” I could. I had for the last 15 minutes. A nauseating burning, rotten egg smell. I didn’t realize it was coming from my car. “Your catalytic converter is glowing cherry red.”
At that point, I nearly lost it. Because I know what this car is worth, and I know how much catalytic converters cost. And I know at this point this car has become nothing but a 2000 pound paperweight. How am I supposed to go across country now?
But then, he goes and makes a few calls. Believe me, I’m making a call or two myself. He finds someone who will do something less than legal to deal with the catalytic converter so it will be at least drivable. Washington State has emissions control though, and it will never pass inspection.
Thank God, my sister came through for me again. She’s going to give me her van in exchange for my P.O.S. I’m grateful. Gas costs just tripled, probably, but I’m grateful. But the thing is, I still need this car to be drivable for her. So here I sit, with a pit bull, while something not exactly legal is happening with my car. It’s amazing just how far one can sink.
But he confirms what I already suspected. This problem was caused by them doing a horrible job with the tune up, and it’s still messed up. At least I won’t have to worry about it bursting into flames. But it shudders. It lurches. It backfires. And I have so much to do between now and Seattle, and dealing with this problem on top of everything else is going to add a lot of pressure to the situation.
But in an odd, off handed kind of way, this illegal mechanic and his pit bull are really helping me. He even says if I bring it back on another day when he can have it all day, he’ll at least figure out what the heck they did wrong with the tune up. And he’ll do that for free. But I’ll need to find someone who will give me a ride home and pick me up, too.
And as I sat here, I looked at the piece of paper that the original, incompetent mechanic gave me with the pit bull mechanic’s contact info on it, and I notice something that I didn’t notice before. This referral was through a friend of a friend, so he wanted me to know his friend’s name so pit bull guy would know how I found him. It said, “Tell him Chuck sent you.”
Chuck just happens to be the name of my boyfriend who passed away in March. And he used to say to me when we had a problem, “We can fix this. It may not be pretty and it may not be perfect, but we’ll fix this.” I look down at the pit bull, whose massive head is now resting on my shoe, and I smile weakly.
[Image credit: mprgroup.net]
The View from a Drawbridge 
Wow, sending you light and love and hope things get better, but it seems it might have been a sign of better things coming.
I hope you’re right.
Whenever things look bad all around you, Put on a pair of blinders. Gung Ho full speed ahead. Just for a little while. THere are things that always fall in our path, seemingly insurmountable. But if you keep pushing you will eventually get there. I know you don’t think so now, but trust me on this. Thinking back 40 years, I was raising three pre-teens by myself, the “friend, from work” that we were staying with decided she didn’t want anyone living with her any more, and I came home to find all our stuff in the front yard in the rain. Homeless, but I had a job and family and it was just a couple of weeks before school let out and they went to spend the summer with their father. It was the darkest time in my life. I don’t know how I survived but I did. You will, I promise, you will.
It’s hard to see it now. I’ll take your word for it, though.
I reblogged the other post. I hope some of my friends can come through for you in a more tangible way. We can fix this… and it might end up being pretty.
I hope so, Art. I could use some pretty in my life right about now. Thanks.
yup