Do You Smell That?
UH, OH! SOMETHING IS WRONG.
I smell gasoline.
I should not be smelling gasoline
The only good part of this is that I am in the car and not in the house. Even with that bright spot in my otherwise explosively aromatic world I know that something is wrong with the car.
Since my knowledge of things automotive could fit in a flea’s navel and still have room for three caraway seeds and a copy of “The Wit And Wisdom Of The Three Stooges.” I decided to seek Professional help.
I contacted a local automotive garage and made a date to take our chariot in for a diagnostic peek-a-boo ASAP – which turned out to be a week away. The guy on the phone said that smelling gasoline generally means only one thing: His kid gets another semester at Mortuary College. Gasoline should be in the gas tank. I should not be able to smell it. Since I do smell it that means there is a leak somewhere where it should not be.
One week passed and on a warm Friday morning I delivered the Toyota into the hands of the mechanic. At least they gave me a ride home.
Then the waiting began.
I dropped off the car at 7:45 AM. At 2:45 PM I got a call from the garage. Sure thing – there was a leak in the gas line. The only solution was to disassemble the entire car and then put it back together and hope there are no parts left over. Well, almost that. The real cost was going to cut into my coffee budget.
Another sore spot was that they did not have the needed part at hand and it would be Monday before they could do the life saving surgery. The unfortunate side effect of this delay was – no car for the weekend.
Not good.
Terre Haute (That’s French for “Do you smell gasoline?”) is not overrun with car rental agencies. The grand total is: two. I called Enterprise first because they were closest and promised to come and pick me up then take me to their lot. However…ten minutes after making the arrangements they called me back and said, “Umm…We have to cancel on you.”
“Why?” I asked them.
“Umm…We don’t have any cars.”
There was no point in arguing at that point, so it was on to Possibility #2 – the Toyota Dealer on the far southern edge of town. Any farther away and they would be in Arkansas. With no other options I said “OK” and they really did send someone to get me and haul my carcass down to their facility.
I packed a lunch.
We had a nice silver colored Toyota Whatever for the weekend allowing for some semblance of normalcy to be maintained.
Come Monday afternoon good news arrived: the car survived the operation and would be discharged as soon as I could get there.
I paid the ransom demand with a piece of plastic from my bank. I am now the holder of the majority of this country’s National Debt. Japan owns me. I don’t know what they could do with or to me any more than their proxy the mechanic.
So, I have the keys to the car. It no longer smells of gasoline and the chances of an explosive event have been greatly reduced…as long as I avoid cheap Mexican food.
Down the Hall on Your Left 