I parked my car on the street last night as opposed to its normal nocturnal resting place in the parking garage. I did this in part as incentive to get out of bed a few minutes before 8 am (it’s amazing how the threat of a parking ticket can jolt me out of bed when most other things, say my thesis for instance, have very little power to roust me). I also left the car there because it woke up Saturday morning with starter issues and I was a little afraid that if I left it with the garage guys it might stop starting altogether.
However, when I called my mechanic this morning to let him know I was heading over, his answering machine said he was on vacation. Thankfully he gets back tomorrow, so I’ll be heading out again in the morning to deliver the car to him. I’m very lucky in that I have a mechanic who I have found to be really trustworthy and reliable. The only problem with him is that his shop is in sort of a sketchy section of Germantown. When I go there I am typically the only white person around. This doesn’t make me nervous, but I am very aware of how out of place I appear.
I will be really glad to turn my car over to Troy for a day or two, because this bout of car trouble rattled me. Normally when I experience car issues I miss my parents, mostly because my dad spent some years working as a mechanic and so is typically able to fix the smaller issues. This time the missing of them was really acute, and made me feel alone and without anyone in the world who I could call for help if something were to happen. I realize that this isn’t a rational feeling. I have many friends, multiple cousins and even several acquaintances who would come to my aid if I called and was in need. But there’s nothing like immediate family for people who will help without expectation or explanation. And on occasion I really miss having that particular resource at hand.