Yesterday was sticky hot, as Ontario sometimes is in July. But I had a great day to enjoy—some errands to run, including present-buying for #1 Son who has just submitted his doctoral thesis, and then lunch with my friend, Cheryl.
Before that, I decided to quickly nip over to the Rec Centre for some wood chips to finish off a gardening project. I worked quickly to load containers into the trunk of my car because I knew the heat would be building. I worked so quickly that I left my purse, with cell phone in it, on the front porch.
The parking area behind the Rec Centre was empty so early in the morning. This was a good thing because I was wearing baggy, earth-stained pants and a misshapen straw hat—great for gardening but not for socializing.
“I’ll be in and out in five minutes,” I thought as I rounded the curb of the driveway and headed toward the pile of woodchips.
Hah!
The car lurched and began making a high decibel clunking, grinding, scraping noise. It felt a little like driving over a curb. But the curb was behind me.
I jammed on the brakes and leapt out to see what was happening.
Nothing. The car was standing alone in a large parking lot, touching nothing.
Puzzled, I got back into the car and started to drive away. But the car didn’t move. I applied more gas, and it still refused to budge. What? A little more gas and it inched forward, as if the handbrake was on and I noticed a smell—as if I were driving with the handbrake on. Needless to say I desisted and went out for another look.
This time I got down and looked under the car.
Good idea!
There was a huge piece of detached curb wedged under the passenger side of the car—not quite suspending the car but pretty effectively suspending operation. I was going nowhere. My phone was back home. Temperature and humidity were rising by the minute along with my blood pressure.
Just about then two city maintenance trucks rolled into the parking lot and summer students got ready to mow and trim grass. I swallowed my pride, borrowed a phone from one of them, called my daughter who called CAA, then waited in the shadow of their truck until I was rescued 45 minutes later.
The tow truck driver who pulled the chunk of cement out from under the chassis marvelled that my little Corolla had managed to drag it so far. Tough little car! That assessment was borne out later when mechanics took me under the hoist to show me there was only cosmetic damage. I was weak with relief. Then I asked for the bill. No charge.
The morale(s) of my story: enjoy every sticky, hot errand that you are able to do, always carry your cell phone and do good deeds every chance you get; it can make a big difference to the recipient and it grows your heart as well.
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