As I sat in church this past Sunday recharging my spiritual batteries, my truck battery was slowly dying.
I had left my headlights on. It was cloudy, so I turned them on, but I’m used to driving a vehicle that dings when you’ve left your lights on. The ’57 Chevy pickup doesn’t do that.
So when I hopped in and turned the key … nothing. I tried to jump it off, but it wouldn’t take a charge. So I pulled out the battery and headed to the nearby auto supply store. I swapped the old battery for a new one and headed back to the truck, hooked up the new battery and turned the key.
This is the point at which I have to call my dad, who informs me I’m not getting a connection. I’ll need to clean off the contacts. But since I have no sandpaper handy I’ll have to try pushing it till I can get it rolling downhill and try to crank it in second gear.
While on the phone and messing around under the hood I noticed a car stopped. Great! Somebody’s going to help me!
The passenger is taking a picture of me.
That just adds insult to injury, I thought, before realizing she was actually getting a shot of the house behind me that was home to a law office. It had most of its roof ripped off by the April 27 tornadoes that blasted through Alabama.
“Great,” I told Dad. “Now I’m in somebody’s picture of tornado damage under the hood of my truck, and they’ll paste it all over the Internet.” (I just did a search. Couldn’t find it.)
I hung up the phone and assessed the situation. I’d have to start pushing the hunk of steel up a slight incline before I got to the downgrade. Further, I’d have to go through a stop sign, so it would be best to time it when no one was coming.
Easy enough. It’s not a well-traveled street.
So I started pushing. Then let it roll back. Push a little farther, roll it back. I finally had it, and was ready to make my move. And, of course, a car was coming. I had to stop at the sign. And, of course, the car turned at my street rather than drive past – meaning I never needed to stop at all.
But by this point I was atop a hill, so far less pushing would get me rolling. And just at that moment an older man on a bicycle happened by. “Need a push?” he asked.
We got it moving and VRRROOOM! It was running. Home I went.
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