Home Alone

I don't go out much any more.  It is dangerous.  I get into situations.  It is me, I know.  If I could stand dinners at the Olive Garden and trips to theme parks. . . but I can't.  But last night, someone from work was having a Halloween party.  I've been before.  It is dangerous.  Not them.  Me.  Before the evening is done, I will get too relaxed and begin to say and do things because I will think, "Wheee, it's a party and people are dressed up like morons and they are drunk.  Why should I be careful?"  And then I will let my guard down and say something that will turn everyone silent.

Still, I had planned to go.  I tell myself that I won't do that, that I will smile and nod and let others be clever in that not-so-dangerous way, perhaps repeating lines from the Dos Equis commercials with running commentary, and I think I can do it, I can just smile and sip beer and not try to ratchet things up a notch.

But the old Volvo's brakes are gone, so I left work early in the afternoon to get them fixed.  I had to choose between the garage I always take my car to that specializes in Volvos or to Firestone store that is close to my house. Brakes, I thought.  Firestone can surely handle that.  And so I rolled in about two-thirty to a pretty empty store.

"Hey," I said to the fellow behind the service desk, "can you change my brakes today?"

"Sure," he said, "we have plenty of time."

"But you will have all the parts?"

"It's early.  No problem."

And so I left the car and walked the mile or so back to my house thinking that I would drive to the party in a safer car.  Drinking and driving without brakes can be bad on a Friday night.  It felt good to be a responsible person, the sort who sees to things that need taking care of.

Later in the afternoon, I got the call from the fellow at Firestone.

"We've got the brakes on, and new rotors.  But we need some hardware that didn't come in the package and we won't be able to get it tonight, so we'll fix it first thing in the morning."

"No, no, that is my only car," I lied, though the lie was harmless since I can't drive the Jeep at night since the lights do not work just now.  "Just use the parts from the old brakes."

"We can't.  The car is old and it broke when the mechanic was trying to take it off.  Let me talk to him and I'll call you back.  We'll see what we can do."

And he did call back.

"O.K."  I think we can get it going, but you'll have to bring it back in the next few days so we can replace the part.  It should be ready in about half an hour or forty-five minutes."

I felt, though, that I was making a mistake.  The part was broken.  They couldn't get another.  What the hell were they going to do?  I pictured them cutting a clothes hanger and bending it into shape or something worse.

But they didn't call.  And it would be dark soon.  I decided that I would begin walking back to Firestone.   I had my cell phone.  They'd call, I was certain, while I was on my way.

They didn't, though.  And when I reached the corner of the big road where they sit, I could see my white Volvo on the rack without wheels.  There was hope, though, I thought as I watched a fellow in a gray uniform actually working on it.  But he wasn't working on the wheels.  He was under the hood.  This wasn't right, I thought.  This could not be good.

And surely, it wasn't.  I watched for awhile, and then there were two fellows at the car.  I walked into the greeting area filled with tire displays and watched through the glass wall as they talked and pointed and hunched their shoulders and shook their heads.  Finally, one of them came in.

"We can't get the brake pedal to return.  We've pumped fluid through the system and pumped the brake, but the pedal stays down.  We think it is the master cylinder."

Resignation.  "O.K." I said.  I guess I'll wait until tomorrow.

Their was a grocery store down the block, so I walked over to buy something to make for dinner.  I would walk home in the dark with my plastic bag of food.  I would make a salad with lots of garlic and then heat some Amy's organic macaroni and cheese and dump in a can of Albacore tuna.  I would drink a big Saporro beer and read for awhile before I watched something on television.  I would not go to the party.

Maybe it is better, I told myself.  Maybe this is Providence.  I am meant to stay home alone where I will not get into any trouble.  No danger sitting home by yourself on the Friday before Halloween.

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Update:  $600.