1. Broke Down in VT
There is a gas station on Route 30 in Vermont that looks
abandoned, and my pickup wouldn’t start one fine summer morning,
so I gathered my friend’s dad Tom and my friend Rob and we took
another car and drove down to the corner of our two lane road
and Route 30, hung a right, and stopped in to a local garage. No
one there at 10:30a.m. ON A WEEKDAY. We tried back in the
afternoon, still no luck. The next day came and Bill the owner
was in. Here’s how the conversation went.
“Hi Bill,” said my friend’s dad Tom. No response. He
stared, we stared. I was confused.
“How’re you doing?” No verbal response again, but a head
affirming nod from Bill. I was still confused.
“We got a pickup that won’t start,” Tom said, starting to
look confused himself. Bill looked at me and my friend’s dad and
brother and then said, after what seemed like a long time:
“Where’s the car at?” Tom took on this one, pointing up the
hill in his house’s direction.
“We live past the second guardrail at 1600 Route 100.”
Bill looked that way and said “that’s the old McKindrick place,
yep, I know that place.”
“Yep,” Tom said, and the silence resumed. A longer silence this
time, and I began to wonder whether I should be filling in the
gaps.
2. “What’s the problem with the truck,” Bill said. Tom looked
at me and I thought, finally my chance. Don’t muck it up.
“I turn the key and I get nothing,” I said. I was starting
to get the hang of this conversation-short sentences, informal
and sometimes a bit awkward, punctuated by long moments of
silence. I can handle this, I thought, as we stood and
contemplated, silently. Then:
“I was supposed to go hunting on Friday,” Bill said. This was
Wednesday. I didn’t know what to say, (a first!) and was
puzzling out a reply when he jumped back into the conversation.
“I could take a look today, if you want,” he said.
“Great,” I replied, going for the less is more approach. Now
we’re getting somewhere. A quick trip ensued as we drove up to
our house, with Bill ambling along a few minutes later in the
garage’s tow truck. We all resumed the standing around after
getting out of our vehicles.
“That the truck?” Bill asked, looking at my Dodge Dakota
Sport pickup. “Yep,” I said, handing him the keys and stepping
aside. Bill climbed in, looked around, put the key in the
ignition, turned the key, and got nothing.
I felt a slowly rising level of frustration owing to my total
ignorance of automotive matters and the hope that this oddly
quiet little dark-haired mechanic would come to the rescue. With
a quick look under the hood Bill said:
3. “It could be the starter or the alternator. I’d have to
order that, and I’m supposed to go hunting Friday.” Another
conversation killer, and nobody said a thing for another minute.
What do you say to that? Bill walked back to his truck and
pulled his pickup right up facing my truck and proceeded to get
out some jumper cables to jump it. I jumped into my truck after
watching him connect the cables, during which time no one spoke
at all. I let him rev up his engine, turned the key, and
“Hallelujah”, started the truck right up. Bill walked over and
disconnected the jumper cables and said: “Follow me down to the
shop and we’ll take a look.”
Down at the shop, truck sitting over the sunken bay, Bill
tried to start it and got nothing again. Then the conversation
just turned typical Vermont funny. Bill: “It’s the alternator. I
can order one, take till next week to get one and another day to
put it in.” Me: “I’m leaving to head back to NY tomorrow.” Bill:
No response. Me: “Any suggestions for what I should do?” Bill:
“Well, I can get it started for you, and then I suggest you
don’t turn the car off till you get to New York…or you can get a
hammer and I’ll show your wife where to hit it..” Me: Trying
desperately not to burst out laughing, because I know that Bill
is dead serious. I didn’t stop the truck until we got to our
home on Long Island, and of course, it wouldn’t start after
that. And it turned out to be the alternator. Bill was right.
