There's No Going Backward
I had a meeting this afternoon, a little over an hour's drive from my house. When I got in my car to go home, it wouldn't move. I shifted into reverse and pressed the gas, the engine revved but the car didn't go anywhere. I checked the E brake; restarted the car. Still didn't move.
I called a coworker who'd attended the same meeting. Thankfully he hadn't gotten far down the road. He came to my aid, popped the hood and checked the fluids.
I should have taken a photo to document the occasion, but I was far too flustered. (The picture above is from a different town, many years ago.) So you'll have to picture the scene for yourself: Good guy Josh with his beard and his sunglasses, leaning under the hood in the scorching sun. An old man in a back brace and no shirt, sprinting from his house to grab a package from the mailbox. A girl in a colorful hijab who threw her bike down in the lawn of the house next door, rang the doorbell, and then pedaled away. Intricate little scenes, crisp and complex like autumn leaves.
"At least I'll have something to blog about," I thought.
The problem, of course, mysteriously fixed itself. I drove around the block just to be sure, and then Josh did, and we both agreed that the transmission seemed fine enough to drive. I thanked him. He wished me luck. We both headed home.