Machine Things - Part 1?
My father because he had a major stroke when I was very young I suspect he feels that he missed out on teaching me a small series of things on manhood that can only be taught when they come up. This thought doesn’t feel as pronounced now that I live a thousand miles away but there were moments growing up when I would feel that intense regret coming off of him. There’d be something wrong with the car and all he could communicate was the I needed to carry the tarp out to the car and then unfurl it underneath it so he could haltingly scoot under the machine. He’d grab the tools he needed and would place them near his head so his one good arm could easily find them. He’d learned from years earlier that his pointing to the toolbox and expecting me to divine which tool he wanted was a tremendously frustrating practice for us both. And so I would just watch him as I stood near the hood waiting for his signal to help slide him back from under the car. Then the car would be fixed and I did not know that there was something wrong with it nor what he did to fix it. One afternoon I was driving back home I have no memory of where I was coming from. A block away from home I pulled over because the van felt like it had a flat tire. So I pulled over to the side and sure enough there was a quickly deflating tire on the rear. I was a block from home. I thought to myself It’s so close I can just drive over there no problem and then deal with it later. My dad because he had accepted that things under the hood or under the chassis required to much precision for him to grunt out an explanation (he’d lost the ability to speak clearly) he began to overcompensate with things he could teach. He would walk alongside me as I mowed the lawn and most relevant to this he had me change a lot of tires whether they were flat or not. If he saw me pull in with a flat tire he would have lost his shit and he would have had me changing tires every day that week. So I thought about this as I stood next to my van. I grabbed the spare from the back and went ahead changing the tire despite knowing that the tire I was taking out was only quickly deflating but the spare was in fact completely deflated. He would have something to say about my driving in with a flat but I could provide proof that I knew how to change a tire! ++++++ A few years later I’d be in Minnesota working a part-time job at a Target just outside Minneapolis. I was on the register texting the woman I was secretly seeing who happened to be in a long term relationship with one of my co-workers. She had just told me that if I met her at Dairy Queen for my lunch break then she would have for me a banana split and a *treat* I could enjoy while I ate that banana split. I was audibly frustrated when I saw a flat tire on my Ford Explorer in the giant Target parking lot. Let me say something quickly about how massive these department store parking lots are--especially in the suburbs. I hate them!!! It’s ridiculous! This is likely hyperbole but if you were to lay people down on the lot trying to cover it; lay them down tightly like in a hot dog wiener package, I’d say it would take six hundred people to completely cover the lot. I have this flat tire waiting for me at the start of my lunch break.
My father gave me the Explorer at some point in the month when I told my parents I had decided to move to Minnesota and my actual moving there. Although thinking on it now maybe he’d given it to me earlier because I kind of remember driving it to work or more accurately getting locked out of it in my work parking lot. I had been in an accident in the van and I don’t remember how drive-able it was after that. Either way I had been given the Explorer and I have no memory of that conversation.
I never changed the tire of a Ford Explorer. But it’s exactly the same. I had the SUV up, the flat taken out but was having major difficulty securing the spare tire my dad had left for me in the trunk onto the wheel hub assembly. I reasoned that I was in too much of a hurry and needed to regather myself to finish the task. So I took a deep breath and failed again to put the spare tire on.
Back inside the Target I went looking for some assistance. I found another cashier just getting ready to end her lunch break. Hey can you help me with getting my tire back on my car please? It’s gonna be like 2 minutes tops. Just need another set of hands to help force it in there.
Sure, she says. Our supervisor upon seeing me stop my coworker from clocking back in. Where are you two going?
Well, I say. I have a flat and I need help for a minute to get it back on. It should be real quick.
No. You can work on that after your shift is over we need you both to come back from your breaks now.
I’m having trouble changing the tire now in broad daylight. It’s not the sort of thing that’s going to get easier to work on at the end of my day once it’s nighttime and there’s no one around. I’ll be back as soon as it’s done but I won’t be back until it’s done. Great. See you in a minute. And I’ll send her right back.
My co-worker helps me with the tire but it’s still not wanting to fit. A white man about my dad’s age walks up to us as it’s quite obvious we’re struggling. He suggests that I try the spare that came equipped with the car that the one my dad left me that I’ve been trying to fit is the wrong size and will never fit. I had no idea it came with a spare and don’t know if it still has the spare. It’s just some random white guy annoying me after I’ve been working on the flat for now a little over a half hour. Oh I think I got really drunk and maybe threw that away in some drunken stupor I lie to him to get him to move on his way and leave me to solve it myself.
That would be pretty stupid. I hope you didn’t do that because that tire would be really helpful now. He tells me and stays with me. He bends over a little and looks under the SUV. There it is, he says. Also, he tells me that the area I’ve chosen to place the car jack is unsafe and I should lower the car. Grab the manual, he says. Let’s figure out how the tire out from under there.
It looks like you’re going to be okay, my co-worker tells me. I have to get back to work.
Yeah of course thank you for all the help. Let them know I’ll be in in a minute.
The man stays with me as we find the parts to remove the spare hidden underneath and next to the passenger seats. He stays with me until the tire is completely replaced. I thank him and we shake hands. I rush off back to work. And I quickly forget most of what he looked like so I don’t know if I ever see him again. But it’s my hope that he’d come back to that Target every now and then recognize me and remember his good deed. How he made time for a stranger.
