Scary Morning

I literally paid off my car two weeks ago. I received the title in the mail earlier this week. I should be jumping for joy that my lovely car is now 100% mine-all-mine. I should be revelling in the fact that I have one less bill to pay every month.

But, pessimist that I am, I'm instead gingerly turning the key in the ignition every morning, waiting for the engine to fall out.

And this morning proved that I'm not too far off base.

I turn on the car this morning and my eyes go straight to the gas gauge because I noticed last night that I was getting low and probably need to fill up and isn't it convenient that I'm seeing $3.29 gas offered at the same time. This morning, the gas gauge is pointing to full-on "E", yet the "you have no gas" light is not on and/or blinking. The gauge wavers sometimes depending on the incline of the car, so I don't pay it too much mind; maybe it just needs to warm up. The temperature gauge is all the way at "C" after all.

I'm leaving the neighborhood, but I notice the gauges haven't changed. Again, I don't pay it any mind, because I know that even though my tank was low, I had enough to get me to and from work today, and then some.

About a half mile from my house, the panicked realization sets in. The gas gauge isn't moving. The temperature gauge isn't moving. THE SPEEDOMETER AND TACHOMETER AREN'T MOVING.


Crap. Oh crap.

I consider my options. The brakes are working, so the entire thing's not shutting down (I had a car do that once while I was in motion.) The radio and lights are on, so I don't think it's electrical. What else could it be?? I could go to the nearby automotive shop, but I have no idea how long they'll need to keep my car or how many other jobs they have lined up that day, I have no other ride to work, and I know that there will probably be a sizeable train-wreck of a document awaiting my speed-demon review. I could chance it and just go to work, but the prospect of driving 66 in morning rush hour with no certainty as to how fast I'm going, or whether the engine is going to suddenly cut out, is not appealing at all.

I decide to take it to the shop. It's just too risky to myself and others to do otherwise. The document will be in crappy shape no matter what I do, there are others on the QC Team to handle it, I can work some extra hours next week to make up for whatever I miss today, and I can probably beg Husband or Friend Michelle to pick me up and take me to work. Not a great plan, but it's the best option on the table.

The nice boy at the counter (he couldn't have been more than 22, and they're much more pleasant at 7:45 am than they are at 5:30 pm) takes down my information, and then does something uncharacteristic of many auto-repair people. Most auto-repair people would simply confiscate my car and return it at the end of the day with a sizeable bill regardless of how much work was or was not done. Instead, Nice Boy politely asks if I tried re-starting the car. Well no, I haven't. He suggests we go try that out and see if anything changes.

Lo and behold! Nice Boy is magical! The engine turns over and the dials all move. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief, thank him profusely, and am on my way. Apparently a car is much like a computer: if you're seeing abnormal things, try a restart.

I'm thrilled that my car is functioning and that the repair didn't cost a cent. I am also, however, a little embarrassed to reinforce the stereotype of "those woman drivers."