Merciful Mechanic

CAPTION:"Be an Angel and give that guy a hand down there. That's an order!"

 

It doesn't make sense that some things get juxtaposed. How does a blasphemous dragon driver end up in the parking lot of a Super Church?. And why doesn't such a crossing of paths lead to a black hole level implosion?

I think it just goes to show that Life In The Middle Lane is a lot more complex than we've imagined. Join me once again as we explore that great mystery of yester- decade:

          THE CARBURETOR DID IT

 

                              Part Five

 

So here I sit on the curb of this frontage road, immobilized, praying someone will deliver me from this nightmare. Gathering up a little composure I venture to survey my surroundings. Well surrounding me actually, is one of these new wave, guilt free protestant churches that seats about 10 thousand for Sunday services, not including those listening to loud speakers in the parking lot. But no one is around now. And its dark and it’s eerie.

 

Eerie turns to scary when I see three shadows moving in the bushes at the edge of the parking lot. They grow larger and seem to be coming towards me. I think any level of paranoia I’ve reached at this point is well earned. I kick up my courage and wait their approach.

 

They are three young men, dressed in intimidating Levis and tee shirts. I decide it is time to put on a show. I jump out of the car. I kick the beast in several places and shout out all the profanities I can muster up. I'm telling myself, "look tough mister."

 

Well I would liken the Levi set response to my feigned tirade to, you know, like when you’ve just handed your dog his bone, when actually he just wanted to go out?

 

Their combined looks of incredulity are mesmerizing. The shortest member of the trio speaks first.

 

“Can we help you?”

 

Hell, I don’t know whether they can or not. I just throw my arms in the air screaming, “What do you suggest?”

 

“Well, sir if you can calm down just a little and tell us what’s wrong?”

 

It’s like I’m just starting a session with a shrink. I'm near tears. I tell them the battery is dead, which is probably a good thing, because when it works the car turns into a medieval fire breathing dragon. I babble on about all the advice I’ve been getting.

 

They really seem to be listening? The short intruder moves his right palm to his chin and starts rubbing. There is this terribly long pause before he speaks. Finally,“I think I can fix it. But first we need to get you off the road here."

 

I’m thinking, “how profound?” (That would be 'Duh?' in today's vernacular) I don’t verbalize it because I don’t think I can handle another bout of the “hurt puppy” expression. The Littlest Counselor tells me to get behind the wheel and put the car in neutral. Suddenly I feel myself and the dragon lurching backwards, up, mind you, a steep grade. The short kid shouts, “crank it hard to the left!”

 

I have no imagination left. I’m just following orders. In no time at all the beast and me are sitting comfortably in the middle of the church parking lot. Amazingly not a single car crosses our path during this dramatic maneuver. God MUST be on our side.

 

Now the tallest of the three speaks for the first time.

 

“I’ll get the church truck and charge up his battery. I guess we’ll need a flashlight and toolbox, too.”

 

Oh, no! These guys are with the church come to do the Lord’s work. Imagine my humiliation at the way I’ve been expressing myself. Red faces don't show up in the dark, thank 'goodness.'  The Littlest Christian opens the hood, piddles with the engines eternal (Honest to God faux pas. I'm leaving it.) organs a bit, scratches his chin some more, and then makes a familiar proclamation.

 

“It could be the firing sequence is off. It might be in the distributor cap or the ignition system. My number one guess is the timing is slightly off. I don’t have all the tools I need to set the timing, but I think we can set that distributor to get you where you need to go.”

 

The truck arrives, and the battery gets charged. Littlest Christian has me hit the ignition as he moves to a safe distance to watch the flame thrower. I shut down the engine and guess what? He retards the distributor just a hair. I fire it up and it purrs, briefly. He is instructing me not to give it too much gas on the way home when the old “POP POP” returns.

AND LOOK, there are the flames shooting out of the carburetor. Littlest Christian begins scratching his chin much faster now. He looks like he’s just fallen short of some heavenly trial. He has failed to complete the pilgrimage.

 

He speaks.

 

“It won’t hold a time. As much as I find it hard to believe I think you’ve jumped the timing chain. I would take it back to the mechanic whose been working on it.”

 

All is quiet. A “what the HECK”cloud is forming itself over us all. And as we sit here in this pseudo peace, can anything else go awry?

 

NOW THE COPS ARRIVE. They arrive and it is just one car, two cops. There is no Swat Team, No National Guard.

 

This could get interesting. Go do what you need to do, and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.