After one and one half months, I got my car back. It's tough not being able to drive on the west coast. Even when you can ride your bike to work, everything else pretty much requires a car. Oh yes, there's the bus system. Which I love, as long as I have hours of extra time.
I celebrated with a trip to North Bend. Thought I'd tackle a small mountain. Things went smoothly until I attempted to leave the freeway. And the car broke down at the tail end of the off ramp- died in a violent shudder of the most macabre reverberations. A man stopped and helped push the car onto the shoulder, then a woman stopped and asked if I needed help. Her husband, Rob, took a look under the hood, but we couldn't actually find anything amiss. Rob and Brittany dropped me off at the trail head and I went hiking, figuring if the engine cooled down, all might just be well.
I went hiking and came back to my car to try again. It started and, as long as I didn't stop, it ran. You could hear it for miles, knocking, wheezing, shuddering, but it made it to a less major road before it died again.
On foot once more I stopped in the church at the top of this road and discovered two kind people who took a look, shook their heads and offered me a ride to the bus stop. A few calls to friends resulted in a detailed outline of the bus route. Now it was just a matter of cash-- I wasn't carrying any. Reaching for my debit card, I had a flashback to that morning, when I left the card on my dresser, thinking "If I really need something, I'll use credit." Ridiculous.
Let me paint this in its totality. Having rolled out of bed and into hiking gear hours earlier, I was now covered in a thin layer of dirt from the mountain and in a post-hiking state of grace to look at. Having, unexpectedly, to clear out my car of everything inside meant I was carrying a bulging bag replete with my sweatshirt, which it was far too hot to wear. Imagining that my next option was to ask strangers for money, I came to the horrifying realization that I would be one of those people.
I've heard "hey, spare a quarter for the bus?" a lot of times. And I usually think "right, the bus." I pride myself on accepting people for who they are and being open and friendly to anyone from anywhere. However, there's a hole in my pride. I've always looked down on those people who would shamelessly ask for bus money when you know good and well that's not their goal.
That's when I wondered if I would receive the same reaction. If so, I'd be tempted to pull out evidence of my job, income, education, whatever, to convince a bunch of people I don't even know and will never see again "look! I work! I'm smart! And productive!" But no go. Just sitting there at the bus stop, all ragamuffin-style, I knew that contempt had finally come full circle.
I hated it.
The story ends with the realization that I had tucked away a check that was accidentally written to me when it was meant for my roommate. I had brought it along to cash on my way home, and it turns out Bank of America will cash a check even if you don't have an account. At least, as long as the check was from one of their own. Of course, they'll ask why you don't have an account, to which I replied, as disarmingly as I could, "Honestly? I hate Bank of America. Had a bad experience."
Needless to say I caught the bus and made it home. My car is still on the side of the road somewhere in North Bend, which I intend to remedy tomorrow. It hurts to tow, but it must be done.
It took a couple hours to make it back to my place. The last leg of the trip involved a transfer station, where I sat next to two teenagers, slightly ragamuffin-esque. Funny thing is, they went to get their bus and, next thing, the girl was standing in front of me.
"Hey, do you have any change?" she asked. "He's not letting us on."
I thought I had fifty cents, she said that would be fine. Turns out I had a dollar in quarters, so I handed it over.
Once again, my mind went to that place, identifying her as one of those people. But my thoughts bent quickly away. If I didn't appreciate assumptions on my character, why would I do that to her?
In the end, who cares if someone gets your loose change? If you ever find yourself there, you'll realize it just doesn't matter.
I celebrated with a trip to North Bend. Thought I'd tackle a small mountain. Things went smoothly until I attempted to leave the freeway. And the car broke down at the tail end of the off ramp- died in a violent shudder of the most macabre reverberations. A man stopped and helped push the car onto the shoulder, then a woman stopped and asked if I needed help. Her husband, Rob, took a look under the hood, but we couldn't actually find anything amiss. Rob and Brittany dropped me off at the trail head and I went hiking, figuring if the engine cooled down, all might just be well.
I went hiking and came back to my car to try again. It started and, as long as I didn't stop, it ran. You could hear it for miles, knocking, wheezing, shuddering, but it made it to a less major road before it died again.
On foot once more I stopped in the church at the top of this road and discovered two kind people who took a look, shook their heads and offered me a ride to the bus stop. A few calls to friends resulted in a detailed outline of the bus route. Now it was just a matter of cash-- I wasn't carrying any. Reaching for my debit card, I had a flashback to that morning, when I left the card on my dresser, thinking "If I really need something, I'll use credit." Ridiculous.
Let me paint this in its totality. Having rolled out of bed and into hiking gear hours earlier, I was now covered in a thin layer of dirt from the mountain and in a post-hiking state of grace to look at. Having, unexpectedly, to clear out my car of everything inside meant I was carrying a bulging bag replete with my sweatshirt, which it was far too hot to wear. Imagining that my next option was to ask strangers for money, I came to the horrifying realization that I would be one of those people.
I've heard "hey, spare a quarter for the bus?" a lot of times. And I usually think "right, the bus." I pride myself on accepting people for who they are and being open and friendly to anyone from anywhere. However, there's a hole in my pride. I've always looked down on those people who would shamelessly ask for bus money when you know good and well that's not their goal.
That's when I wondered if I would receive the same reaction. If so, I'd be tempted to pull out evidence of my job, income, education, whatever, to convince a bunch of people I don't even know and will never see again "look! I work! I'm smart! And productive!" But no go. Just sitting there at the bus stop, all ragamuffin-style, I knew that contempt had finally come full circle.
I hated it.
The story ends with the realization that I had tucked away a check that was accidentally written to me when it was meant for my roommate. I had brought it along to cash on my way home, and it turns out Bank of America will cash a check even if you don't have an account. At least, as long as the check was from one of their own. Of course, they'll ask why you don't have an account, to which I replied, as disarmingly as I could, "Honestly? I hate Bank of America. Had a bad experience."
Needless to say I caught the bus and made it home. My car is still on the side of the road somewhere in North Bend, which I intend to remedy tomorrow. It hurts to tow, but it must be done.
It took a couple hours to make it back to my place. The last leg of the trip involved a transfer station, where I sat next to two teenagers, slightly ragamuffin-esque. Funny thing is, they went to get their bus and, next thing, the girl was standing in front of me.
"Hey, do you have any change?" she asked. "He's not letting us on."
I thought I had fifty cents, she said that would be fine. Turns out I had a dollar in quarters, so I handed it over.
Once again, my mind went to that place, identifying her as one of those people. But my thoughts bent quickly away. If I didn't appreciate assumptions on my character, why would I do that to her?
In the end, who cares if someone gets your loose change? If you ever find yourself there, you'll realize it just doesn't matter.