Phoebe burped

STIPIMM: "Sad Professor," by R.E.M.

Well, that was weird.

I am sitting in Bridget's office at B.U., waiting for her to finish a meeting with two of her classmates. I was originally just supposed to drop her off and return home whence I came. But, fortuitously, Bridget invited me into Starbucks (where her meeting was going to be...those college kids and their coffee) to get something. Thus, I parked at a meter, plopped in a quarter and went in to get a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino (Is that spelled right? I don't care.).

When I came out, however, to take myself and Phoebe back home (well, first to Target, but that's neither here nor there), I put the key in the ignition, turned it over like I have 1,000 times, and... nothing. Well, I take that back -- the radio did come on, and the dashboard lit up all "let's go!" But the car itself did not start; indeed, the starter didn't even turn over, which told me pretty much right away what was wrong. Entreaties to "Phoebe, don't do this to me" were futile. Phoebe wasn't starting.

My first thoughts in these situations is always practical. We got a problem, how do we fix it, or at least get it to someone who can fix it? But, for the first time in this situation, I had a wife who was sitting not 75 feet away idly drinking her coffee. So I went in and told her so I could share the worry. And of course, she wanted to see what was happening, and out she came, only to watch me repeat the same things I'd already tried to get her started (I'm not blaming Bridie here... I just think it's funny).

Now, starts the worry. We're gonna have to call a tow truck, right? And my day is ruined. And so is my bank account. All that. Fortunately, two of these things didn't have to happen. You see, 99% of the time that a breakdown happens, you're nowhere near a service station. Had I gone to Target and shut down the car in the parking lot, or had I gone home and stopped the car in front of our apartment, we would have been in trouble, and a tow truck would have had to be called. But, by some great luck that I don't know I deserve (maybe Bridget deserves it...), there's a service station on the corner opposite from where I parked the car.

And so, I go over and see if they can take the car. Sure enough, if we can get it there. All that would take is pushing it across the street, which is no small feat in Boston traffic, but still not too bad. As far as getting people to push it, why, Bridget was meeting with two strapping young lads who were more than happy to put their backs into getting Phoebe across the road (to get to the other side...).

Thus, Phoebe was eased into a service bay less than 15 minutes after she wouldn't start. That has to be a personal record. Of course, since I planned to come back here to work on sound for Bridget's show anyway, I'm sticking around to see what the damage is to fix the starter (told ya so) and, well, to hang out. But also, thanking my lucky stars, because this could be much, much worse.