FIXING THE
Philadelphia, PA
1984
The
first car I owned was used and I was the fourth owner. Someone in Pittsburgh
owned it. And then my dad’s friend,
Jerry Rich, got him this good deal on this car. So my dad and mom drove from
Philly to Pittsburgh and traded in the family car for this one. After a few years, my dad gave the car to my
sister, Sharon. She drove it for a few
years but then she earned her MBA and had a few bucks in her pocket now. So she agave me this gray, ford Granada with
117,000 miles. At the time, I was
returning to grad school yet again. I was 30 and nearly broke and grateful for
this generous gift from my sister. Since
this my first car, it gave me new freedom to go anywhere I wanted to go, when I
wanted to go. This new freedom was liberating. Never again was I subject to
planning my day around an inadequate bus system.
But this freedom wasn’t free. For the first time, I had insurance bills and
gas bills and maintenance bills and an AAA membership. All of these costs quickly added up and
nearly drowned me. And then within the first month came the first of many
roadside breakdowns. And thank god for
AAA. So for the next few years, I spent
many hours on the side of the road, waiting for a mechanic to come and get me
back on the road.
Usually, I would sit patiently and as I heard the rumbling
of a diesel motor I would sigh with relief.
The mechanic would get out of his service truck and I would greet him
with an enthusiasm which was never reciprocated. He wanted to get right to work and get to his
next car. So chit chat was not in any of
his repartee of behaviors. But almost unanimous,
any mechanic who helped me did want to teach me a helpful trick or two on how
to fix my car. Seeing as I had nothing
else to do while he serviced my car, I jumped right in to my private tutoring
sessions. So I learned how to change a tire, jump start a battery, check the
oil levels and the antifreeze level. I
was taught the value of dry gas. And I
could restart the carburetor which seemed to be the most common problem I had.
Once I was with my father and his car became a little fussy.
He didn’t know what to do so I told him to pop the hood. To his great disbelief, I got his car to
start. Then I suggested we get some dry
gas just to be on the safe side. His car
worked like a charm and he was so damn impressed with me.
Maybe a year later, his car became difficult again. My brother suggested he take the car to a mechanic.
“No, Bridget’s coming over tonight”, my father said, “I’ll
get her to look at it”.
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