She was a beauty, Alex thought. A two-seat convertible just off the assembly
line and loaded with all the options Alex's saving account could afford. She was
a deep cobalt blue, glossy and seemingly untouched, glistening in the summer
sun. As he looked out of the window in the salesman's office, he could see the
car waiting for him, waiting for the last signature on the last piece of
paperwork, waiting to have him slide into the driver's seat and start her up for
the first time. Alex would sign anything now to be able to drive off in this
magnificent sculpture of steel and leather.
The first joyride out of the dealer's lot was exhilarating. He negotiated turns
his old automobile never could have, and sped past cars he never would have
challenged previously. What a machine, he thought as he pulled into his driveway
and turned off the ignition. He sat for an hour in the leather seat, breathing
in the aroma of the plastic and wood trim, fingering the buttons and dials, and
dreaming of all the good things owning this vehicle could mean.
The next morning, a Saturday, Alex woke up early and got out the cleaning
supplies. Though his car was only hours in his possession, he wanted it to stay
perfect for as long as possible. He planned to spend a good part of the day on
it, sweating under an August sky, making it shine even more than it already did.
First, he dumped a bag of gravel on the hood and smeared it around a bit, then
removed the gravel with a garden rake. After that, he went over the exterior
with sandpaper, wiping every surface thoroughly and with gusto. Next came the
interior. He used the garden hose to spray everything off inside and then gouged
some of the gauges and switches with a screwdriver. He used a little sandpaper
here and there as well.
Alex then got under the hood for a little fine-tuning. He banged on the fuel
filter with a hammer, and did the same to a number of other components,
including the brake lines and alternator. He poured some water in the oil
receptacle and cut a few wires here and there. Now, he thought, she'll really
run smooth.
After he had spent hours on the car, he stepped back to admire her. Somehow, he
thought, she didn't look quite right. He shrugged it off, though, reasoning that
emotions come and go, but, deep down, he knew what a jewel she was.
Over the next few days, Alex began to notice that something was wrong with his
new car. She didn't have the "get up and go" that she once did, and the stereo
stopped working. He tried each night to find the problem, but he just wasn't
quite sure where to look. He had learned about cars over the years from his
father and assorted friends. He tried everything he could remember. He took it
to friends and professional mechanics that claimed to be experts. Nothing seemed
to work. In fact, the car's performance and appearance only got worse.
While tooling around one night, Alex opened the glove compartment and noticed a
booklet in a protective plastic cover. He took it out and read the front:
"Owner's Manual." He opened the book, and sat for hours reading it and rereading
it by the map light.
Alex was astonished. Apparently, if this book was to be believed, he, and many
of the people he knew, was dreadfully mistaken about how to maintain and fix
automobiles. In fact, most everything he had been doing wasn't merely
ineffective, but actually destructive. No wonder, he thought, she isn't quite
the same. "I've been killing her," he whispered to himself.
He knew that he couldn't go to his "friends" or "professionals" for help with
his car troubles. He had tried them. They were of no use. Contained in the
owner's manual was a telephone number for the manufacturer. Alex knew what his
only viable option was. He resigned himself to a long night on the phone, and
walked back into the house.
Stephen F. Pizzini spizzini@hotmail.com
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