Thankful

Posted Wed Jan 4, 2006 in

This morning, as I read the front page of the News-Miner, I came across this story. I was reminded of my own experience, many years ago, right after we completed my Ph.D. (yes, I said we). We found ourselves working for the U.S. Geological Survey and duty-stationed in south Mississippi. I worked at Stennis Space Center with a detachment from a headquarters unit of the Office of Surface Water.

One Saturday, the family and I drove down to Biloxi to spend a day messing around down there. We pulled into a fast-food restaurant for a bite. When we exited the restaurant, I looked at our Chevy, a hand-me-down from Wife’s folks, and noticed a spill of green fluid beneath the car.

I was immediately struck by that sinking feeling, the one that comes with a breakdown at 1700 on a Saturday afternoon with the knowledge that there is no one, at least no one but me, to effect the repairs. My tools were all at home.

Although I was working full-time, we had not yet moved from the poor-graduate-student phase into working life. There was a moment of panic before I realized that we had a bank balance and weren’t broke, like we’d been for the preceding six years.

I went back into the restaurant and asked about service. Someone there, maybe the manager, gave me a phone number or a name and a phonebook. I can’t remember which. (It was a long time ago.) I called the number and the phone was answered. That startled me in and of itself.

“Yes, we can repair your vehicle. I’ll call a tow-truck and come and get you,” the woman’s voice said.

A few minutes later, the wife (and co-owner) of the repair shop showed up in a pickup truck with a tow-truck following. The technician hooked-up the Chevy and we all piled into the pickup.

The owner and principal mechanic, and his wife took us in. He checked out the vehicle and told me it needed some additional work, but that he could get us back in service in a couple of hours. In the meantime, his wife would take us somewhere we could putter about while he effected the repairs.

So, we spent a couple of hours messing around at the Biloxi mall or some such place while he scrounged up the parts necessary to get us rolling home. There weren’t any cellphones then, they were called radiophones and were extremely rare (and expensive). When the vehicle was complete, the wife came and fetched us, we thanked them profusely, paid them, and drove home in amazement.

I took my vehicles to Biloxi after that for repairs. It was worth the forty-minute drive to know that the man working on them was that kind of man. I never worried that I’d be over-charged or that work would be done that wasn’t required.