Dead Batteries

The other day my car battery died. While this is not that monumentous and really not all that surprising considering it was the factory issue battery, the scenario created a funny little slice of my life I imagine/hope my loyal readers will, well, get a kick out of. To set the scene it is important to know it was a rainy day and after finishing dinner with friends, I stopped by Star Video (a local wonderful video store) where after much perusing I opted to rent the most recent version of “Pride and Prejudice.” What can I say; I was in the mood for 18th century England.
I left the shop, only to discover my car wouldn’t start. I was able to discern in my limited expertise of things automotive that the problem was related to the battery. I tried to call my friends, but as I have figured out with the intersection of Washington & Allen before, to no avail as it is a dead zone (try very hard to not script a cell phone commercial). Because I frequent the video store, I am pretty chummy with the staff there so I re-entered to ask if I could use their phone. I know, very 1996 of me.

They happily consented but insisted only 626 numbers. I first called Triple A only to find out that my policy had lapsed. Well can I just pay the fee? No, the membership office is closed for the night. Remember it is raining. Okay, I call one of my friends. Ordinarily, I tend towards calling the friend or person I was most recently with but in this case, Stacy has an out of area number. In fact, a great number of my friends had to immediately be eliminated by virtue of their area codes. I called two different friends with the right area codes only to be screened. Of course, they didn’t recognize the Star Video Number and opted to screen. I would have done the same thing if I were in their shoes. Finally, I got a hold of Sharon and Cole who were so curious as to why Star Video would be calling they couldn’t resist answering. Thank God.

So the twenty-first century lesson when it comes to cell phones is that they have some draw backs. For starters, dead zones. But also, because we all have grown so accustomed to programming in our friends and screening unknown numbers, there will be times when getting a hold of a friend will be tricky. We didn’t have either of these problems in 1996 did we when screening was at best a luxury? But the last weird thing and I think most of us have to admit when push comes to shove, we like to have a phone number that pays homage to our former lives before moving to the 626. Proudly, we hold onto those out of area area codes as markers of our more exotic heritage beyond the San Gabriel Valley. Except of course for me who has only ever had one cell phone number and it was issued in the San Gabriel Valley as a 626 number. Rue the day when I have to change it.

Ironically, a truth I have observed over the years of having car break downs is that passerbys will often give you their two cents. Sometimes, the advice they give is out of nowhere and you know in your gut you should just smile politely and ignore it. But there are other times, when you know in your knower that they are right and honest and possibly angels sent to help damsels in distress. That was the case with my battery as my loyal friend tried with no luck to jump it, just as we had given up and were unhooking the cables and calling it dead, a warm-hearted passerby claiming to have been a mechanic for thirty years insisted on giving it a try. And just as I have seen in many other instances like this, he was able to get the car on the road again.