The Rehabilitation of a Fallen Female, or What a Difference 24 Hours Makes

Fair warning to the reader: this post will make more sense if you read the previous one. Back here in the little office plaza, after one passes under the stucco arch, are a handful of small businesses. Although different types of operations, they are loosely associated because each is an enterprise of David and George. One doesn't run into many strangers in the plaza because none of the businesses attracts walk-in traffic. There is a pattern to where each person parks and it is easy to understand the workday of others that one sees taking a cigarette break every day at 10:00, 12:00 and 2:00. When one needs certain kinds of services, chances are David and/or George runs a business that provides just what's needed. George pulls a lot of mechanic work from the inhabitants of this small world, just as we clean a lot of carpets for them.

David's comfort zone was announced on my first day of work. "When would you like me to take breaks and lunch?" His reply, delivered with an enormous grin, was along the lines of him being happiest if I'd never leave my desk. Ever. He was pretty serious, though very pleasant. Now, wait. I'm a former labor union rep. I can recite entire chunks of the Fair Labor Standards Act from memory and I take employee rights and benefits seriously. But I looked around me. This wasn't Kansas or corporate. This was different. I reminded myself that stepping away from corporate and trying something new was a gift I gave myself. David fully understands that people have business to conduct. He is reasonable. And so it has developed that, while I still have to leave the desk to see my dentist, most kinds of errand-running is done on my behalf by someone else. Various characters act as my personal shoppers, go to my home to pick things up for me, make bank deposits, take my car for service and other things most people do for themselves. I remain in the first mate's seat. This works in our world.

As I prepare to take a break of several days for the first time in far too long, I've enlisted Cesar to be my go-to man. I want the security of knowing my car is travel-worthy. I don't understand cars and I don't know how to fix them. I will travel a good distance through an area where it would be difficult to gain assistance. I'm not 25 and cute. I could not rely on the first male passerby to stop and assist me. I have been well wrapped up in knots and feel I keep hitting brick walls while trying to move my agenda. And this is all due to the perverse nature of my car, Lucy Sue, who attracts the oddest automobile mishaps I've ever heard about. She is the fallen female referenced in the post title and she has fallen into some disrepair. She's a little worse for wear and tear. The latest freakish fix necessitated waiting for the arrival of a special-order part and I'm starting to sweat whether I'll have decent transportation when it comes time to leave. I have too few men hanging around to caravan to George's shop with my car to drop it off and then come back together. I was terribly distressed by the time Cesar finished his route Friday and prepared to work for me for the rest of the day.

For a week I have driven in abject terror with my hood tied down and gaping open like a slackjaw. The wind has made that hood bounce as I drive into it, and I have suffered many visions of the hood snapping off, coming through the windshield, and slicing my head off. I require the installation of a new cable under the hood of the car so that hood can be opened and closed to allow for other maintenance to be performed. "I'm off, Les. I'll chirp you from George's shop to let you know what's going on." I don't have to see Cesar's face to know when he's funning me. "Uh-oh, Les, they can't do it until tomorrow!" I could envision him grinning, and I told him to stop it. He said they'd been waiting for him and already had the hood up. He radioed again almost immediately. "Les, this is your lucky day." Oh. Oh, no. I don't need any more luck. And I'm convinced that any luck about that car is going to be the bad variety. "Just shoot me, Cesar. What now?" "No, really, Les! It's good!" He told me I didn't need a new cable at all! "Your hood latch was dirty! He fixed you up with two squirts of WD-40 and a shop rag! You just saved $144.25." My hood latch was dirty. And have I mentioned I drove around for a week . . never mind.

"Cesar, come on, let's move this thing along. Come back to the office and get some money. Let's get the oil change now and some of the other things accomplished." Within two hours, Lucy Sue had had an oil change and received a new oil filter and air filter. Each and every one of her body fluids had been topped off , her brakes, tires and wiper blades inspected. The belts, hoses and cooling system had been thoroughly checked out, as had her electrical system. All of this cost me $12.40, for last winter I gave $20 to a man who came soliciting. For my $20, I got a card that entitles me to 3 "free" oil changes and a variety of other free or discounted services. "You need a new battery, Les. We bake them here in the desert and yours is 4 years old. It didn't even register on the voltage meter. They don't give any warning when they are ready to give up the ghost. We'll get it tomorrow." OK, a battery. That doesn't scare me. I have experience in buying new batteries. Minutes after Cesar dropped off the car, Vicente and Lucy appeared to apply the weekly car cleaning and detailing. I pored over the paperwork Cesar brought back and some lights came on for me. I understood what I was reading, in an elementary way. Cars don't literally have a million mysterious systems. They have maybe 20 areas one needs to know a little bit about. And one needs to know where to go to have the car inspected and recommendations made. All of this across the span of one afternoon. I love learning new things!

Mother Badger began a volley of e-mails, so I had a friend as the car repairs shook out. "How could life go on without duct tape and WD-40?", she quipped. MB is in planning mode. She's collecting the coupons for the outlet stores where we shop. In her community, discount punch cards and special shopping days for those under age 50 are a big hit, among other gimmicks. She suggested that with all that knick-knack-paddy-whack, perhaps the stores would owe me money after I finished my shopping! She wonders whether the cucumbers she bought me will still be fresh, but if not, we'll go buy more. She's suggested which stores we should hit on which days, and which days to go to the garage and estate sales. I agreed to her plan immediately. She's good! She's got piles of treasure she plans to donate to charity if I don't want the gems. And she has an upholstered chair for me if it will fit in my car. I give her a tip of the hat for planning all the hunting and gathering first, and then spending some time figuring how we'll get it into the notorious Nissan. "Hang onto the rope that secured the hood. We may need it to tie down the trunk!" We could launch a military offensive between us. She would be the general and I a corporal, and I like it that way.

The morning began like many others. We sandwich the serious part of our morning huddle between two layers of b.s., joking, complaining, whining and telling the stories of what we see and hear in the mean streets. "Les, what was up with that customer?" "Homes, I don't know how you do it. I'd run screaming." I remind them to hydrate as we have turned extremely hot very suddenly. They turn in their work orders and money collected. I tell them every impression their potential customers made on me when I booked the jobs. I give public kudos when one of them has taken a bullet for the company and I give constructive criticism when one of them has done something annoying that the others might easily do as well. I do it gently. I always preface it with, "This is not to beat you up. It is to share details about something that could happen to any of you and to work together on ways we can avoid it happening again." It works in our world. They don't resent me. They try things that their peers and I suggest.

During one of the layers of b.s., joking, complaining, whining and telling the stories of what we see and hear in the mean streets, I heard some comments that suggested everyone had all the scoop about my car's return to respectability. "What, men, do you have a grapevine on those BlackBerries? Each man tells the next man?" This was curious to me. "Well, yeah, Les. We've all been giving input and suggestions. We've tried to think of every possible thing that could worry you and take care of it in advance. We want you to relax and have a good time." Well! And that's when it happened. I took an imaginary step backward and listened to a testosterone-fueled car maintenance confab begin. They tossed factoids and tidbits back and forth and engaged in a little one-upsmanship. Suddenly something happened. A comment was aimed at me: "Les, at about 30-35,000 miles, get your serpentine belt and your brakes inspected. Get the radiator flushed then, too." I'd never been given such advice. "Nah, dude, it'll be three more years before her odometer gets there and we don't want her to wait three years! She needs to do this by the calendar, not by the miles. She doesn't drive enough." I rejoined the party.

"Wait, homes. You know I'm a note taker. Let me get a pad and pen. I've never heard anything like this and I think I'd draw some strength from knowing such things. And be orderly. Stop talking over the top of each other." They spewed forth information for half an hour and I scribbled. I asked questions until I understood. When they disagreed about some of the finer points, I asked them to brainstorm until they could reach a consensus. They did that. I drew a little diagram and chirped a couple of them to clarify fine points. I created a spreadsheet and then a chart. I'm good at that stuff. When Cesar came in from getting the new battery and wiper blades, I asked him to review my chart. "Do I have all of it right?" I did! "Have I missed anything?" Nothing! I get this to the degree that I need to get it. I'm never going to change my own oil or do much under the hood personally. But I'm no longer 100% stupid. I made the spreadsheets. I made the charts. I printed and laminated them. When I got into the car after the end of the workday, I tucked it all into the glove compartment. I don't laminate until I am certain. I am certain. I can learn enough to manage this stuff and not have it overwhelm me.

In my ears right now: When the band split up in 1980, Don Henley said there would be a reunion "when hell freezes over". Hell froze in 1994. I'd always liked them. I liked them better after they'd put a few years on themselves and resolved their differences.

Something that charmed me: The men charmed me. Their conspiring to send me off safe and free of distress. Their willingness to slow down and let me take notes and ask girlish questions until I understood. "What was your father good for, Les?" "Plenty of things, homey, but not teaching me about cars!" "What about Ex?" "He didn't understand them, either. It's a wonder we didn't burn up, blow up and blow out our cars."