"You're on My Pillow!"

Ouch! How come no one ever told me about fuel injectors? I didn’t know anything about “Techron…” before today, that is. And to the tune of $425, I might add. They say you need a lot of grace to watch your parents age; I maintain that the same can also be said of watching an aging car.

I knew something was wrong with my 14-year-old last Friday evening. When I drove it, there was just no power, and the spluttering that ensued proved worrisome. Of course, things of this nature must take place on the weekend when there is no one available to consult. So early Monday morning, Sharon followed me to Bowling Green to make sure the car didn’t die on the way. Now on the way to Bowling Green, there is this Very Large Hill. And I almost didn’t make it up the hill, for all symptoms were made worse by the incline.

I prayed quite often that the Lord would spare me the added trial of having to look up the south end of a northbound school bus. I did not want to increase the chance of stalling. And it was truly amazing. Of all days to not see a single school bus, this indeed was the one. Not a one did I see and was able to make it to the mechanic shop in record time, despite the reduced power. And then I remembered it was Columbus Day, and there was no school. But I thanked the Lord anyway.

Because I was dropping the car off before they were open, and because they had no clue it was going to be there, I left a little bright yellow post-it note on the steering wheel: “Car has no power. Fuel pump?? Spark plugs??” I just “love” describing symptoms of an ailing car. What do I know about it anyway? I just want things to work!

I caught a ride over to the school with Sharon, and we settled down to wait for our first classes to start at 8:00. Now on this particular morning, when we had risen before the sun did, Sharon had not been in a good mood. She was NOT, in fact, ready to face the day, she said. So when we arrived to claim our usual parking spot, we still had an hour until class started. Sharon was tired and ready to sleep; my nerves had been shot on the tense drive in, however, so I was wound up and not sleepy in the least.

Sharon put her car in park and terminated all systems, including the sound system. She grabbed her pillow from the back seat (pillow?), flopped over on her side, and was ready for her slumber to take over. I sat there for a bit, trying to be quiet, but the silence and her obvious grouchiness was too much. I had to do it. I began to giggle. She opened one eye. “What??” she said.

“It’s too quiet,” I said. She disagreed and closed her eyes again. The seat in her car was not as comfortable as the seat in my car. It felt awkward, and I shifted around to try to get as comfy as I could. I put my hands behind my head, trying to give it a little of the support the seat was not giving.

“You’re on my pillow!” Sharon said, tugging at my arm.

“I am??”

YES!

“Well, ok then. It’s still too quiet in here.” And then I began laughing again. So with a sigh of exasperation, she cranked the music on just for my benefit, and I was henceforth able to calm down a bit. But I still did not sleep. Sharon did though. She really was tired!

Two days later and after several more such painful rides, I finally got my car back and became my own person again. For a price, of course. $425… and that was just for one fuel injector! They tell me I have SIX!

A Fit of Dullness

By Western’s decree, commuter students have to park either at the top of the hill in the Chestnut lot or down at the bottom of the hill in the parking garage. Grise Hall (where my accounting class is) is almost exactly halfway in between the two, so there’s not much difference in the distance and doesn’t matter where I park.

It seems I was destined to have yet another dull moment yesterday. I tried to park in the Chestnut lot, but as there was not a spot to be found, I went to the bottom of the hill and parked in the parking garage instead. When I got out of my car, I was welcomed with the really loud music of an outdoor concert out on the lawn. The music was not the best I’d ever heard, and I was happy to make my way halfway up the hill and leave it behind. I went to my music class, then to Accounting. Because the teacher had a cold, she let us out an hour early, which RARELY happens. We were all so glad, and I was eager to make the most of the unexpected gift of an hour.

I stepped outside and once again heard the terrible music. I just shook my head and started walking. As I passed the library parking lot where the faculty parks, I recognized the unmistakable outline of one of my former professors at the far end of the parking lot—my least favorite prof, as it turns out.

I was almost to the math building at the top of the hill when I realized I was headed toward Chestnut—NOT the parking structure where my car was waiting. I literally did a double-take right there at the pedestrian crosswalk. My mouth dropped open, figuratively speaking, but there was no help for it. I did an abrupt turnabout and started heading back down the hill. OH, but I was cross. I didn’t mind the extra walking so much; it was the wasted time that got me! I was so mad, in fact, that I [very briefly] considered sprinting down to the library parking lot and begging a ride off my former professor. I could NOT believe that I had done something so dull, and it practically ruined the entire 30-minute ride back home.

So anyway, this morning after Economics, I was telling Michelle what I had done. I had no more than gotten it out when her mouth dropped open, and she said, “I did the very same thing the other day…except the exact opposite!!” She went on to say that unlike me (going to the top, then walking all the way down), she had left Grise and walked all the way down to the bottom before she realized her car was parked at the top. “I was in such a snit, you would not believe it!” she said emphatically. “I literally called my daddy to come get me and drive me to the top of the hill! I was so mad!!” Her dad couldn’t come, so she tried a friend. But by the time she was finished talking to her friend, she had calmed down a bit. She decided that she really did need the exercise, and so she would just walk up the hill—a good twenty-minute walk.

Michelle and I were comparing our horror stories as we were walking up the hill from the aforementioned Grise, and as we did so, I’m sure we made quite the sight—for we were literally dissolving into hysterical laughter and having a hard time even walking in a straight line.

Dullness is simply better-handled when experienced in pairs.