Did you ever have a conversation with someone that you were absolutely certain as to which way that conversation would go and how it would end? As in no doubts whatsover!
And then it goes in a completely different direction than you had imagined possible?
Yeah, me too! 🙂
This tale actually started a couple of weeks earlier when I started noticing some hesitation in the Traverse whenever I’d put my foot down. After considering some of the various likely causes, I figured it was worth splurging $12 for a couple of bottles of fuel system cleaner to see if they’d help sort out the poor performance.
Indeed they did seem to actually improve things somewhat but didn’t completely eliminate the hesitation which was now worryingly consistently reproducible at 20-28 mph (roughly between 2nd and 3rd gear) and especially noticeable from 35-48 mph (4th to 5th gear). I’m guessing the fuel system cleaner did help but it also allowed those symptoms with the gearbox to be more readily noticeable.
At this point, it’s time to find an expert who could answer that question once and for all and I found one pretty close by at Real World Automotive who specialise in transmission diagnosis and repair. Their reviews were very consistently top notch and what was really noticeable was that a majority of the favourable reviews were from women who felt that they’d been listened to and treated with respect which was very much a breath of fresh air for an industry known for it’s misogyny.
After speaking with the gent up front, I knew that’s where the Traverse needed to be to figure out what ails her but that would mean leaving her there for a couple of days and potentially much longer should the repairs be more extensive.
That meant having to hire a car whilst the Traverse was in the garage being mended.
My first plan which didn’t survive contact with the enemy was to have Nicholas run me to the airport on Sunday afternoon so I could grab a car from there. But the concession fees and taxes for hiring a car at the airport are dramatically higher than those imposed at the “city offices” so being notoriously cheap and scared witless at the bill I could be potentially facing, it was time to find option #2.
Said option was to hire a car on Saturday from just up the New Bern Avenue in Knightdale but in order to do so, I’d need to catch a ride for me and Alex because Nicholas would be off turning wrenches at Leith Toyota that morning.
That’s what brought me to that conversation I alluded to at the beginning of this story…I knew Miguel was going to be working at a renovation project of his and figured I’d have him run me and Alex to Knightdale on the way to his job site and it’d be completely sorted.
So there I am in his kitchen next door as he and I are picking at the puzzle of “The Polar Express” sitting on the island and I’m regaling him with this elegantly worked out plan of mine to have him Uber my panoramic physique and Alex up to Knightdale in the morning with a backgrounder of the Traverse’s mechanical woes necessitating such an amaze-balls plan.
And that’s when he looks me straight in the eye and completely blows that plan out of the water with three words spoken as matter-of-factly as you please:
“Take the truck!”
Say what?!? Where in the heck did that come from?
Of all of the outcomes I had anticipated, that is the one that honestly had never occurred to me in any shape or form whatsoever.
Of course, I start babbling something along the lines of “I don’t want to put you out” or some such and I get that look and another dose of…
“Take the truck!”
I try once more to resist because I know that F-150 is his baby and the last thing I’d ever want is for something unfortunate to happen whilst I’m piloting it. It’s not that I didn’t feel capable (after all, I’d driven a lighter and longer F-150 for over 15 years!) and it wasn’t like I was planning on doing anything stupid like attracting official notice to the fact I wasn’t driving my usual ride.
But when I’d already had a case of automotive bad luck that looked like it was bordering on the epic and combining that with a pucker factor that would be off the charts…I truly believed it was well worth spending the money to hire a car rather than put out someone I truly consider just as much family to me as those born to it.
You know that look that a teacher gets when she’s confronted with a particularly slow and dull student apparently incapable of grasping even the most basic concept? Goodness knows with all of the teachers on Dad’s side of the family, I’d seen that look more times than I’d really care to admit to…and in my direction enough that I’m even more reluctant to admit to *THAT* number.
It turns out that a professional home renovator and master craftsman from Puerto Rico can duplicate that look with ease as he said the following:
“You’re being such a stooge! TAKE THE TRUCK!”
I’ll admit to never having been in the military but having served in a military family for quite a long time, even I can know when to admit defeat.
But there was one more battle yet to be won and that was my desperate attempt to not break down and cry right in front of Miguel.
Let me tell you…that was no easy feat!
It was in that moment where he had given so much of himself selflessly and without even a second’s hesitation that he reminded me so much of my grandfather…and on the day before what would have been his 112th birthday, no less!
It shouldn’t have been such a shock because I’ve been watching him and Jessica opening their home and their hearts to anyone and everyone who has ever needed them for over 12 years now.
When their faith called them to “love thy neighbour as thyself”, they’ve answered the call every time without hesitation or reservation. So when you see them on Sunday, you can bet your very last dollar that what you see then is what you’re going to get the rest of the week as well.
That my friends and dear readers is why I’m not in the least embarrassed to admit that I love Miguel and Jessica and their family and always will and mere words will never be able to truly convey how fortunate and blessed that they have been a cherished part of my life that has become more and more precious through the years.
Even if I’m occasionally a stooge.
No, strike that.
*ESPECIALLY WHEN I’M BEING A STOOGE!* 🙂
With the time to reflect and come to that revelation safely in my own place, that was when the tears that comes from being so loved and supported in spite of being a bit of a stooge could safely fall.