Saturday, 3:00pm
“Do you know a garage nearby?” I asked the two gas station attendants. Both stood behind the counter and were playing on their phones.
The first, a brunet in her fifties, made eye contact with me and then retreated into the back of the store. The second, a teen in a tank top who looked barely old enough to drive, said without looking up from her phone, “a garage?”
“Yeah, um,” I said, not sure how to explain to someone who works in a gas station what a garage is. “My minivan just broke down? And I need to have it towed somewhere? I’m not from around here. Do you know anyone who might be able to fix it?”
“Wow. No,” she said with sympathy, finally making eye contact with me.
“You don’t know of any tow trucks in town? There’s no one I can call?”
“No. I don’t know anyone,” she said.
I found this ironic as the name of the town was Accident. As my wife and I had pulled by the sign that read, “Welcome to Accident” I’d made the joke. “Wouldn’t it be funny if we broke down here?” A few minutes later our engine started smoking.
I was wrong. It wasn’t funny.
“Do you have a phone book?” I asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got one.”
“Can I use it?”
“Oh. Sure,” she said.
Back in the van, my wife and I discussed our options. According to the phone book, we had three choices. First was a garage fifteen miles in the wrong direction, which would put it forty-five miles from our final destination. Second was a garage twenty-five minutes past our destination that wasn’t open until Monday. The third option of Buddy’s, open seven days a week.
Saturday, 4:30pm
“Hey, um, excuse me,” I said to the tow truck driver who’d begun hooking up my minivan without speaking to me.
“Hey, can I help you?” he said with a smile.
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted him to tow the van. I knew he was from Buddies because the giant sticker on the door of the bright red, flatbed truck said so. Something in me thought there should have been more formality to the exchange.
My wife and I had relocated our five kids and most important luggage to the back corner of the gas station parking lot. Maybe he didn’t realize the van’s owner was still present. “This is my van. Do you, like, need my information or anything?”
“Um. Yeah, I guess so,” he said. He was a portly man with glasses in a blue, grease stained, button down. He looked confused as to why he might need my information, as if I was asking for something far out of the ordinary. He rummaged in the cab of the truck and returned with a small pad of paper and a pen. “Um, write your name and phone number on there. Buddy will give you a call on Monday.”
As the tow truck pulled out of the parking lot with my car, I wondered if I’d made a horrible mistake. What if Buddy’s was a fraud? Would I ever see my car again? What if this was an elaborate criminal organization established to steal the cars of tourists who broke down while driving through the small mountains of western Maryland? I snapped a picture of the tow truck with my cell phone.
I rejoined my family in the corner of the gas station parking lot where my infant son coed delightfully in his stroller, surrounded by our four suitcases. My only daughter did cartwheels on the asphalt, and my three other boys used twigs as swords.
“So I guess they’ll call us?” my wife asked.
“Yeah, I guess?” I said, and we both laughed at the insanity of the moment.
Our moment was interrupted by a voice of uncertainty. “So, hey,” the brunette gas station attendant said loudly to get our attention. She looked at me as if she’d never seen me before.
“Hey?” I replied.
“So, um,” the attendant continued unsteadily. “What’cha doin’?”
A number of answers came to mind:
“Camping.”
“We liked this gas station so much we decided to stay for the entirety of our vacation.”
“I’ve claimed this square of asphalt in the name of Elkins. I am king and you shall address me as such.”
But what I said was, “Our van broke down and we’re waiting for our family to come and pick us up. We’re on our way to a family reunion.”
“Oh,” she said suspiciously. “Well, as long as you’re gone soon.”
“As soon as humanly possible,” my wife said.
Sunday, 10:30am
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“It’s the one that was towed there yesterday. It’s having transmissions issues.”
“What type of car is it?”
“It’s a Honda Odyssey. It’s silver?”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“Well. I was wondering if you’d had a chance to take a look at it.”
“Nope. Not ‘till tomorrow.”
“Okay. Great. Do you think my wife and I can swing by and get some stuff out of it?”
“Sure. Come on by. Anytime. We’ll be here.”
Sunday, 1:30pm
I don’t know why, but I was surprised that Buddy’s was a house. It was a nice, two story house. I imagined at least three or four bedrooms. My wife and I pulled my father-in-law’s car into the driveway. Behind the house was a four car garage. Behind the garage was a gravel field full of wrecked cars. Most of the cars looked far beyond repair. Many of the cars were clearly mud-boggers. The State Fair was in town, and one of the primary attractions was the mud bog – a competition that consisted of driving large wheeled cars into a hug pit of mud to see how far they could go until they stalled. In fact, the only non-mud-bogging vehicle that looked like it had been in Buddy’s back yard for less than a year was mine.
I parked the car and walked to the garage. It was empty. I then went to the back door of the house. Also empty. On the door was a sign with a phone number that said, “Call if no one is in the garage.” I called.
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. I’m calling about my car.”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“It’s the one that was towed there yesterday. It’s having transmissions issues. I called you earlier about getting into it to get some stuff?”
“What type of car is it?”
“It’s a Honda Odyssey.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“I wanted to get into it to get some stuff.”
“Okay.”
“Well. Um. When will you be back?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to be in and out all day.”
“I’m here now. Do you know when I should come back?”
“I mean, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll come back then.”
“Or, you could just go get your stuff.”
“Oh. Um. Okay.”
“Yep. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what’s wrong with it.”
“Okay. Great. Thanks.”
When I went to check my car, not only was it unlocked, but the keys were in the ignition.
Monday, 4:30pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“It’s the one that was towed there Sunday. Transmission issues. I came by yesterday to get stuff out of it.”
“What type of car is it?”
“It’s a Honda Odyssey.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“Is this Buddy?”
“No. This is Tom.”
“Are you the guy I talked to yesterday?”
“That was probably Bobby.”
“Okay. Well, Bobby said he would call me about my car. Have ya’ll had a chance to look at it yet?”
“Yep. The transmission is blown.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yep. I’m going to call around and see if I can find a refurbished one for you. If not, I’ll have to put a new one in. I’ll call you around lunch and let you know.”
“Okay. Great. I appreciate that. Thanks for taking care of us.”
“No problem. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Tuesday, 4:30pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“It’s the one that was towed there Sunday. Transmission issues.”
“What type of car is it?”
“It’s a Honda Odyssey.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“Who’s this?”
“This is Tom.”
“Hey Tom. We talked yesterday. You said you were looking into refurbished transmissions?”
“Oh. Yeah. Haven’t heard back yet. I’ll call you tomorrow. Around lunch.”
“Great. Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Wednesday, 4:30pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“It’s the one that was towed there Sunday. The Honda Odyssey with transmission issues?”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“Is this Tom?”
“Yep.”
“Have you heard anything about the refurbished transmissions you were looking into?”
“Yeah. There aren’t any.”
“Oh. Well, what does that mean?”
“It means you’re going to have to buy a new one. Which is best. I wouldn’t trust a refurbished one in my car. Can never really tell what state they’re in.”
“Okay. Um. Well, how long will it take you to put in a new one?”
“If I order the part tonight, get it tomorrow, then Friday morning at the latest.”
“Fantastic. That’ll be great.”
“Yep. I’ll call you tomorrow around –“
“Around lunch?”
“Yeah. I’ll call tomorrow around lunch to let you know a more exact time. It depends on when the part gets delivered.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Thursday, 1:30pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Jeff Elkins. Is this Tom?”
“Yep.”
“I was calling to check on my car. To see if you got the part yet?”
“Okay. Which one is it?”
“The Honda Odyssey with transmission issues.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“Did the new transmission come in yet?”
“Yep.”
“So, when do you think you’ll have our car ready? I don’t mean to be annoying, but we have to check out of our cabin early Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem. We’re working on it now. We should have it ready by Friday morning. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
“Great. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Friday, 10:00am
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Tom. This is Jeff Elkins. Honda Odyssey. Transmission. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Oh yeah. Okay.”
“You said it would be ready this morning?”
“Well. It’s going to take us a little longer. Should be done by tonight. I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
“Great. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Friday, 4:55pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Tom. This is Jeff. Honda Odyssey. Transmission. Calling to check on my car.”
“Nope. This is Bobby.”
“Oh. Sorry. Bobby. I was calling to check on my car.”
“Which one is it?”
“It’s the Honda Odyssey? You’re putting a new transmission in it?”
“Yep.”
“I was calling to see when it will be ready.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Oh. Tom told me it would be ready today.”
“Tomorrow. Morning. Definitely.”
“Okay. Well, um. We have to check out by ten. Will it be ready by then?”
“Oh yeah. No problem. By ten? We’ll definitely have it ready by then. We’re finishing up now.”
“Okay. Great. Thank you.”
“Just come by around ten tomorrow. We’ll have it ready for you.”
“Awesome. Thank you.”
Saturday, 10:01am
My car was up on jacks in the third bay of the garage. On both sides were mud-boggers with bright colored, masculine designs and large, mud-caked wheels. Five mechanics in blue shirts buzzed around the space, laughing and joking as they worked. My father-in-law and I stood in the doorway of the garage for two minutes.
“Hey, excuse me,” I said to the man who had originally towed me. “I’m here to pick up my car.”
“Okay. Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “Which one is it?”
“That one right there,” I said, pointing at the Honda lifted five feet in the air.
“Hey Tommy,” the tow truck driver called. And then he turned his back on us and went back to the mud-bogger he was working with.
From the back of the garage a twenty-something man with a sparse beard appeared. “I’m Tom,” he said. “How can I help you?”
“Hey,” I said extending my hand for a shake. “I’m Jeff Elkins. We’ve been talking on the phone.”
“Okay,” he replied.
I stared into his eyes to see if he was high. I couldn’t tell. “You told me to come by around ten to pick up my van?”
“Which one is yours?”
I looked around the yard. My minivan was the only thing on the lot that could be described in anyway as a van. “That one. Right there,” I said, pointing to the minivan lofted into the air.
“Oh, yeah. We’re going to need another hour or so.”
“Can you give me a more exact time? We had to check out of our house and don’t have anywhere to stay. We’re kind of stuck until the van is done.”
“We should have it done by lunch. You got kids with you?”
“Yes?” I said, not knowing why that was his business.
He took off his Bass Pro Shop hat and scratched his head. “Listen,” he said. “Here’s what you do. Go over to Applebees. Grab you and the kids some lunch. Then walk over when you’re done. By the time you get here, we’ll be finished.”
For a moment I thought about opening my personal life up to this young man. I thought about explaining that there were nine of us (five kids, my wife, myself, and my in-laws who had stayed behind to help us) sharing one car with two seats, that driving the twenty minutes down the mountain to Applebees was impossible, and that right now my wife and kids were on a time-stalling hike while my mother-in-law sat at a picnic table with all of our luggage. I thought about dumping all of this on him, but then I caught myself. “Be professional,” I reminded myself silently. “Your problems are not his. Honey catches more bees than vinegar. He just needs to focus on fixing the car.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said. “We’ll be back at noon.”
Saturday, 12:15pm
This time Tom intercepted me as I walked up to the garage. I could see behind him that my car was still up on the jack. Different mud-boggers flanked it.
“Hey Tom,” I said. “My car ready to go?”
“Yeah. So. We’re going to need a little bit longer. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be done soon. But why don’t you just head back and wait for me to call you.”
I silently weighed my options. It was too late to move the car to another garage, doing so would force me to stay in town with no transportation until Monday, maybe Tuesday. Would pitching a fit work with this guy? I didn’t think so.
“Do you even have my number?” I asked with a wry smile.
“Of course I’ve got your number,” he said.
“Well, just in case.” I took the pen from behind my ear and snatched a piece of scrap paper from my father-in-law’s car. “Here’s my number,” I said as I wrote it down for him.
“Alright,” he said, jamming the paper in his back pocket.
Saturday, 4:05pm
“Hello. This is Buddy’s. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Tom. This is Jeff Elkins. Honda Odyssey. Transmission. The only van in your lot. Listen, this town closes up in about an hour. Right now my wife and kids and I are stranded at picnic tables on top of the mountain, and it looks like it might rain. If I need to make arrangements for us to stay somewhere while you finish my car, I need to know now.”
“Weather said it won’t rain ’till tomorrow.”
“I need you to focus, Tom. The van.”
“Oh. Your van’s done. Drove it around a bit. It’s running fine.”
“Great,” I said with relief. “I thought you were going to call me?”
“I did call. No one answered. Which I thought was weird since you’ve just been sittin’ up at the Applebees.”
“I’m not at the Applebees, Tom.”
“Well, you can come and get your car whenever you’re ready. Try to get here before five though, because we close up shop then and you won’t be able to get it until Monday.”
Saturday, 8:05pm
It felt good to be on the highway, the road whizzing by. My wife sat next to me in the passenger seat, reading a novel about a manly time traveler from Scotland who killed a bear with his bare hands. My kids watched one of the Toy Story movies, giggling together at Buzz and Woody antics. I sat quietly, hands on the wheel, counting the miles until we were safe at home.
The scrapping only lasted a few seconds. It was loud and troubling. At first, I thought it was coming from the car next to me, but he passed and the sound remained. I slowed, hoping the noise would vanish.
The wheel jerked in my hand. There was a small burst of grinding and tearing from under my van. A large, black piece of plastics appeared behind me in the road. I watched in the rear view mirror as a car swerved to avoid it.
“Daddy?” my twelve-year-old said with fear.
“We’re fine, Bud,” I said, assuring myself. “Everything’s fine. We’re safe.” I looked to my wife.
“Just keep driving,” she said. “Just keep driving.”
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