Editor’s Note: Some alien being has claimed use of my name and may be sending mail appealing for some sort of impolite relief from everyone in my address book. Please do not reply, open or click on an attachment from any email address purporting to be using my full name but with some unfamiliar address. My regrets.
-Vic
The proud German car had been yelling at me- “A Level Service 25 Days deferred!” and as you might imagine, the Mercedes Dealer that was so convenient to my dwelling at Big Pink is now 70 miles up the road. While I leave the verdant property a few times a week for Swim Call, the trip to the dealer was a slightly more daunting prospect. The drive involves a bit more extension than normal. I don’t know if Rt-29 north is more challenging than it used to be, but there has been a string of fatalities reported in the Clarion-Bugle lately that is disquieting. Rather than a personal trip for me to get Up North for services, it appears that America is coming here to Culpeper.
The dread Pandemic has been enough to keep folks fairly close to home. When outsiders come to the property, the masking is perfunctory. You know, more a question of politeness than a defense against debilitating disease. A trip to the Dealer was an actual adventure in visiting an America with which I was unfamiliar.
I made plans to visit my son, with an estimated time-of-arrival at mid-afternoon. Since I still drive regularly, I was only moderately distressed by the increasingly erratic behavior of fellow motorists as I approached the city. I was focused on the instrument panel, so I can’t tell you how many other drivers, alone in their shiny vehicles were masked for protection. I wasn’t. The things force my exhalations up over my nose and fog up my geezer glasses. I viewed being maskless as a matter of public safety with being “polite” a necessary adjunct when dealing with other citizens.
Weather was good and the tank full, so there were no necessary stops, and it was a joy to see my son. The separation we have all experienced took a while to wear off, and dinner meant a small adventure to a Mexican place in North Arlington. It was fun to see the small but significant alterations in the landscape. There are a few new boldly articulated buildings. Part of the Mercedes complex has been knocked flat to prepare for new higher density structures. The tacos were carefully wrapped in foil, and tasty. Life was good, even if sleeping in what had been my bed was both tranquil and a little strange.
I had made an early appointment at the shop. 0700 is when they open, and was convenient in other times with business activities and a loaner car to fill up the rest of the day. Waking in the dark, I realized I needed to find my phone to ascertain the time, so mild panic ensued as I sat out on the patio, watching the light came up. I was reunited with phone and the Eastern Daylight Savings zone to discover I had to get moving to meet the appointed minute.
Haste in turn led to the car, which continued its admonition from the speedometer to swiftly proceed to the dealer. Traffic was muted in the neighborhood. Polite, almost. This was something new. I traveled the ten blocks efficiently, but discovered the construction had congested the area available for motorists awaiting service. I was confronted by choice. I could block the street, awaiting the time for admission, or take my chances.
Being prompt had its advantage. The glass doors swept up to the garage at the appointed minute, and my disruption to Arlington’s traffic flow was minimized to a quick wave-in. With ten or fifteen cars in the interior lanes, it took a while to interview each driver to ascertain service needs. To my growing horror, I realized my mask was still hopefully waiting in my travel bag back at the condo. I was on the verge of being impolite.
On balance, my needs were simple. When the polite young man appeared at my door I asked him to “Turn off the service warning light and do whatever it says.” He nodded and asked who my service manager might be. I thought for a moment. It had been a while.
A variety of half forgotten names flew through my brain. It was a Scottish name, I thought. “Um, Hugh?” He nodded, indicating there was in fact a fellow named Hugh on the staff. He then took my number, and set me free in America. That is when it got real. I was on cane, and at a point most distant from the waiting area. I advanced across the two lanes of waiting vehicles, unmasked. One of the staff approached with some urgency.
“Sir, do you not have a mask?” He appeared distressed. I shook my head regretfully, and a search through the unoccupied Manager’s office produced one to the obvious relief of all concerned.
My son kindly came over to pick me up. I used to walk home from service visits. This was a bit of a disability challenge, like “What door are you near?” But the inconvenience was modest, and as a reward for our early labors, we stopped at the Mickey Dees drive through on the way home. I think I asked for a McMuffin, which was a manifestation now known as “Number One,” not radically dissimilar to what I had ordered for the auto moments before. I hoped its breakfast was as good as ours.
We were back at Big Pink in time to take a call from a man alleged to be named “Hugh.” he was polite, and appeared to be the kindly man at the Service Center who has efficiently shorn me of thousands in repair and maintenance issues over the years. He announced that an extensive search of records connecting my dashboard and Stuttgart, Germany, had been performed and appropriately distanced in accordance with Arlington emergency regulations.
He discovered, to some mild but polite concern, that the only service that had been done was an oil change a couple years ago, and it wasn’t “A-Level Service.” There was an imposing host of other issues required to meet service and model-specific requirements. I agreeably said go ahead and do it all. He said they might need the car for “two or three days,” which struck discord. This was a bit of trouble, since I did not pack for an extended stay. I looked over at my son and thought I might have seen a flash of alarm at the prospect of an extended visit.
Quick thinking resulted in an apprehensive call to Grace. She had completed her car-related issues and was physically in town. She had accomplished an assortment of visits to both friends and family, and was available to drive us home. My son asked me what my plans were for the car, when the Dealer told us all arduous work was complete. I told him I would think about it in two or three days.
This morning, I am very content to rise in a bed that was most comfortable, even if it 70 miles from my vehicle. Everyone was polite on this journey to America. A bit uneasy though. On further consideration, I stretched in my own bed and decided I would think about that in two or three days. That could involve another trip to America. I hoped I could stay polite.
Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com