My darling daughter send me this email yesterday afternoon . . .
I need to take my car in. The clutch is still funky, the emergency brake wouldn't go all the way down this morning and it's making an awful grinding clicking sound. So, Can I use Poot in the meantime? I might not get it fixed if it's outrageous. I need to wait until Jan. to see if I have a permanent job. I don't think my car likes me anymore.
Oh great! Here we go again with that car. It is a 1994 Mercury Capri that was built in Australia. Even though it says "Mercury" on it, try and get parts for it from a Ford dealer. No way! They have stopped making the car, and the parts are rare. So then that afternoon I replied . . .
Bring it in. Poot is available. Call them first (555-3828) but I am sure you can leave in on the lot.
After being alone with my thoughts for a while, my mind began to paint vivid automotive repair disaster scenarios.
I know that particular beast has an appetite for motor oil. After getting that email, all kinds of seized-up-engine horror flashed through my mind. In a cold sweat I typed . . .
Is that grinding/clicking coming from the engine? CHECK THE OIL!!!
I went home and waited for her to call or stop by to claim the keys to Poot (although I think she has a set), but she was a noshow. Fine. I call and she says she isn't feeling well enough to deal with it just yet. OK. So I watched TV, cooked myself some spaghetti for dinner, washed up, got tired and went to bed.
This morning I got another email from her. . .
No, I think it was a chunk of ice. 'Cause it's fine this morning.
I could only reply with one word . . . "Phew!!!"
To which she replied . . .
You're telling me, I need it to last a couple more months. Before it retires to car heaven.