Can’t Fix What You Can’t Find

Dearest Rachel –

The Seventh Doctor was probably quoting someone else (actually, many someones else, I’m sure – it’s undoubtably a very common saying, now that I think about it) when he observed that “the difference between comedy and tragedy is a fine one; it’s only a matter of timing.” At the time, he was (characteristically) turning what could have been a reasonably serious line into a punch line by dint of being sucked into a short-distance wormhole, leaving him to draw out that last word rather comically, so he clearly knew whereof he spoke; he simply hadn’t figured out how to harness this axiom properly. Or maybe he had, and he was deliberately trying to lighten a moment that could – especially by following his plan – transform defeat (i.e., tragedy) into victory (i.e., comedy). Wish I could discuss the scene with you again, and see what you think.

Still, the observation holds up, regardless of the circumstances under which it was uttered (and who, apart from the Doctor, was truly the first one to arrive at this conclusion). But what does any of this have to do with my day, or even my life in general? Well, I’m getting to that, honey.

You see – and I can’t recall if I’ve told you about this – for the past month or so, I’ve been having an issue with one of my tires, which I should point out are fairly new. Every couple of weeks or so, the idiot light on my dash goes off, indicating that I’m low on air – and it’s always the same one, on the back passenger’s side. You remember what a nuisance this was back in the day, as we were dealing with a similar issue on the very day of your final trip, necessitating a stop at a gas station for air before hopping onto the interstate en route to camp and your fate. I won’t begin to guess how many quarters I’ve sacrificed to keep that light happy; I’m pretty sure it’s as many or more than I fed into arcade machines back when I was a kid in the eighties… all of which should suggest that maybe it’s the car and how it’s balanced that’s really causing this.

In any event, with this nuisance in mind, I finally decided to make an appointment last week to bring it in to the dealership to have it looked at; if anyone could spot the problem and fix it, it’s the folks who deal with these vehicles (and maintain them) on a regular, daily basis. Today was the first day they had available, and I signed up – although I requested a later time than I normally would, given that I wanted to spend the morning at Dad’s bedside, and check how he was doing, as I had been busy on Sunday preparing dishes for the family party. You already know how that went, so I won’t belabor that story for you.

However, what I had forgotten was that I had made an appointment nearly two months previous to have the heating company come out and give the furnace a once-over; while the space heater in the bedroom had sorted itself out, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to have the professionals take a look at our main home unit. But it had completely slipped my mind as to when it would happen; and while the dealership texted me a reminder on Sunday about my appointment, I didn’t hear from the heating company until they were telling me that a maintenance professional was on his way, and would be arriving at approximately the same time I had planned to leave the house to get the car serviced.

With the guy already en route, it was pointless to call and reschedule. I decided to wait a little longer than I’d originally intended, just in case he showed up before I absolutely had to make that appointment at the dealership. And he did, in fact. Moreover, when I suggested leaving a credit card with Daniel to pay for the visit, he pointed out that he’d prefer a check, especially since the visit was a flat rate (although, after I wrote out the check, he offered to get new furnace filters for me and put them in for a fairly nominal charge; I gave him the twelve bucks in cash). So that was sorted out before I felt the need to leave – although if he had any recommendations as he was leaving, I’m sure I’ll never hear about them from Daniel.

For my part, I actually made it to the dealership with time to spare. I explained the situation with the tires, as well as some roughness with the transmission (which was a challenge to explain; the mechanic told me that it “sounded complex” at first, but when he got behind the wheel, he claimed to not see or feel any issues with the RPM rate and shifting gears, but promised to go over it). Since it had been four months, I also requested the usual routine maintenance regarding oil and filters.

It all took longer than a visit to one of those ‘quick lube’ places, to be sure – nearly an hour, although I admit to having budgeted twice that, since I didn’t know what they would find, or how long it would take to fix – but the visit cost about twenty bucks less. It’s good that my dad is still around, so I can get in at least one more acknowledgement to him that he’s right to keep recommending the dealership to me for service, rather than those lube shops. It’s not as if I need the speed these days, anyway.

But despite doing an efficient – and cheap! – job with the lube/oil/filter and the multi-point inspection, they found nothing on my tire needing service. No damage, no nails, no leaks, no nothing. And like with the transmission, they can’t fix what they can’t find. At least what they could do gave me more than my money’s worth, at least compared to my experiences elsewhere.

The ironic punch line, however, came that evening, as we were driving to Sparks for one last night before the holidays and the transition to the new campus. As we drove over the train tracks (one thing I’m not going to miss about Des Plaines) – and you might guess what happened – the indicator light went on: low tire pressure. Which I suppose stands to reason; if you don’t fix the problem, the problem remains. But if you can’t find it in the first place, what can you do?

Oh, well; at least I know where to go to deal with that, too.

Still, if you could keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck, I’d really appreciate it. Clearly, I’m going to need it.