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FUNNY
thing, the day my column came out last week, by early
afternoon a friend of mine came through with the contact
number of her favorite mechanic. And before the end of
the day, Mang Vic had towed my Pop’s vehicle to his
talyer, with the help of his Kuya Ronnie, the latter
a veteran of 10 long suffering years in Kuwait as an
auto mechanic, serving Americans. (Okay, so God didn’t
give me a boyfriend this time around...rats! But He gave
me a mechanic instead. Two of them to be exact, plus an
assistant. It was very clear to me that God had other
ideas for me in terms of a relationship, and instead of
helping me find a short-time lover to deal with this
auto mess, He introduced me to much more interesting
people, and perhaps the opportunity to learn something
about car repairs. Who knows, I may have some bright
future as a mechanic someday?! Ya think?!)
Anyway,
by late Saturday morning Pop’s car came back to us fully
restored and functioning. I was so relieved, I was
almost happy to pay the mechanic off the P5,000 he
billed me for the repairs. All I wanted was deliverance
from this maddening situation and the chance to finally
schlep the machine off to someone else.
Well, as
my friend Moana came over on Monday to check on the
car—I told you I have no talent for anything remotely
auto-mechanical—the effing transport conveyance didn’t
want to start again! I shouted for dear old Pop’s
indulgence and begged him to make the darn thing come
back to life...to no avail. An SOS text message followed
by a call to Mang Vic sent him running back to my home
almost immediately, possibly sensing my frustration at
the idiocy of it all. And I suppose he also wanted to
redeem his own reputation, which at that moment I was
close to dragging through the mud, convinced I was that
Pop’s car was on the fritz again.
As the
evening deepened, however, and with Mang Vic’s
admittedly semi-inebriated state (you know how these
guys relax after a long day of greasing up), try as he
might, Pop’s car didn’t have the juice. The mechanic
said there now was no electricity to fire up the fuel
pump and get the gas to the engine. (Or at least it
sounded something like that.) According to him, the
antitheft alarm system may have reset itself after the
car got fixed and may have drained the electricity.
Duh. All
I could do was look at Moana in befuddlement, and asked
if what the mechanic was saying made sense. I could tell
that Moana was unsure as well, as both of us were only
relying on the word of our friend who recommended Mang
Vic, that he was completely credible and reliable.
Anyhow,
the mechanic eventually called it quits and went home
with the promise that he would be back the next day to
tow Pop’s car back to the talyer. But before he
left, he bid the car goodbye, telling her “Kita tayo
bukas, ha,” as he gently caressed its hood. I was
amused. But he did tell me earlier that, most often,
cars sometimes need attention, just like people. “Kailangan
pansin-pansinin mo,” which made me even more pissed
at it. It was turning out that owning a car was even
more of a headache than owning a pet! Like I can always
trust a cat to take care of itself, not unlike me,
instead of wanting to be fussed over like a car.
Of
course, my Pop treated his car almost with the same
reverence, too. His attachment to the blasted thing was
such that he didn’t even consider switching it for some
of the newer car models available. (I’m surprised he
didn’t name the car like my other friends do.) She
served him well until the day he died, and he gave her
the proper respect she needed.
I
suppose the car had long wanted to give up the ghost
when she realized that she no longer had Pop to care for
her in the loving way she was accustomed to. To us, whom
Pop had left behind, we saw her as just another mode of
transportation and, especially to me, just one more
headache to take on, with the rest of the family
responsibilities I had to take over from Pop.
It
actually got kinda creepy when Pop died last year,
because it seemed the car didn’t want anyone driving
her. Her alarm would go haywire as soon as we shut her
doors, not wanting to be switched off, and despite us
hitting the key lock switch repetitively. She would only
calm down whenever I would call out loud to my Pop to
let us drive her to our destination. Wooo....
So with
Pop’s birthday coming up this weekend, I think his car
is missing him again—as we are. She has gone mad in her
grief and, consequently, is making everyone else feel
just as terrible. She had probably heard me curse under
my breath at how difficult she was making my life out to
be, along with my “evil” plan to sell her. And just like
a scorned woman, she’s rubbing the difficulties right in
my face. Serves me right I suppose.
Well,
Mang Vic and his kuya have towed Pop’s car back
to the talyer, mystified by her stubbornness. I
don’t know how soon she will be returned to us but I’m
thinking, maybe I should just keep my mouth shut around
her, so as not to “hurt” her feelings. Hopefully, by
Pop’s birthday, she would be back to her old self,
purring much like the great babe that had always served
him well, instead of whining and throwing tantrums like
a fuddy-duddy old lady.
Well, if
she behaves like the latter, there’s always the junkyard
nearby I can visit...hmmph! |
