I've arrived...Buffalo-Part 1
Yesterday at work I wanted nothing more than to be in Buffalo, hanging out with B1 & B2. After an uneventful day at work, part of it spent working on the church's library (more on that later), I headed out excited and ready, for my mini road trip, at 5pm. Stopped at the gas station to put a little air in my tire and oil in my engine. This is when the trouble happened.
Somehow I managed, while taking the oil cap off, to drop the cap down under the engine, and onto this shelf-thingy. I took off my rings (safety first) and forced my arm down as far as I could, waving my fingers wildly to get the oil cap. The coiling around the engine, which I had to slide my arm past were still warm from the drive to the gas station, so with each swipe of my arm (looking like a monkey in a mad comedy to get the banana-I am sure!) I would rub my arm against hot coils, eventually burning the top layer of skin off.
So, now I am burned, and frustrated to the point of tears. Nothing is working: not my arm, not my arm holding a pair of pliers, and not my winter ice scrapper-seriously, I was trying everything. I just wanted to get to Buffalo! I finally pulled my car to the side of the building and up on a sidewalk with the left side of my car, just high enough to climb underneath it. No good. Couldn't reach the cap that way either.
Finally, I called my brother A3, who was a mechanic, and asked if I could just get a replacement cap at the car parts store. After a short, sort of comical phone call, I headed 5 miles into Rochester, and to a car parts store. Problem solved.
Stinking of cheap gas station soap (used in an attempt to scrub all the grease of my arms), slightly mussed, and maybe a little greasy, I set off. Music is salve to wounds for me, so I decided to put in something cheerful. First I tried Jack Johnson, who I usually like, when I am in a good mood. At that moment he seemed like a damn hippy who had no sense of my frustration.
Next it was the Doors, who only made me feel like smoking weed, or cigarettes, and drinking a beer, and as I was driving, and some of those things are illegal, I opted for a change in music.
Finally I put in one of my favorites-Postal Service, Give up, which felt an apt title for how I was feeling. However, after 3 songs I was back to my pleasant self, enjoying the idea of my mini road trip.
Aside from an hour stuck at the MI.-Canada border, the ride passed pleasantly, enjoying music by Postal Service, the Beatles, Astrude Gilberto, and Ray LaMontagne; eventually listening to Roald Dahl's, Matilda on my iPod. The ride was 5 hours, so I imagine it will take me about 4 hours to get home, as I will be traveling at night and there will be less traffic.
Upon arrival B1 showed me around their cute, cute, cute apartment in the Allentown district of Buffalo. We headed down the street to a bar called Colter Bay Grill and drank Mudslides-feeling all Big Lebowksi-esque. It was wonderful to sit and catch up while we waited for B2, who met us later after he got out of work. I was so happy when the three of us were sitting together again, catching up on life.
Somehow I managed, while taking the oil cap off, to drop the cap down under the engine, and onto this shelf-thingy. I took off my rings (safety first) and forced my arm down as far as I could, waving my fingers wildly to get the oil cap. The coiling around the engine, which I had to slide my arm past were still warm from the drive to the gas station, so with each swipe of my arm (looking like a monkey in a mad comedy to get the banana-I am sure!) I would rub my arm against hot coils, eventually burning the top layer of skin off.
So, now I am burned, and frustrated to the point of tears. Nothing is working: not my arm, not my arm holding a pair of pliers, and not my winter ice scrapper-seriously, I was trying everything. I just wanted to get to Buffalo! I finally pulled my car to the side of the building and up on a sidewalk with the left side of my car, just high enough to climb underneath it. No good. Couldn't reach the cap that way either.
Finally, I called my brother A3, who was a mechanic, and asked if I could just get a replacement cap at the car parts store. After a short, sort of comical phone call, I headed 5 miles into Rochester, and to a car parts store. Problem solved.
Stinking of cheap gas station soap (used in an attempt to scrub all the grease of my arms), slightly mussed, and maybe a little greasy, I set off. Music is salve to wounds for me, so I decided to put in something cheerful. First I tried Jack Johnson, who I usually like, when I am in a good mood. At that moment he seemed like a damn hippy who had no sense of my frustration.
Next it was the Doors, who only made me feel like smoking weed, or cigarettes, and drinking a beer, and as I was driving, and some of those things are illegal, I opted for a change in music.
Finally I put in one of my favorites-Postal Service, Give up, which felt an apt title for how I was feeling. However, after 3 songs I was back to my pleasant self, enjoying the idea of my mini road trip.
Aside from an hour stuck at the MI.-Canada border, the ride passed pleasantly, enjoying music by Postal Service, the Beatles, Astrude Gilberto, and Ray LaMontagne; eventually listening to Roald Dahl's, Matilda on my iPod. The ride was 5 hours, so I imagine it will take me about 4 hours to get home, as I will be traveling at night and there will be less traffic.
Upon arrival B1 showed me around their cute, cute, cute apartment in the Allentown district of Buffalo. We headed down the street to a bar called Colter Bay Grill and drank Mudslides-feeling all Big Lebowksi-esque. It was wonderful to sit and catch up while we waited for B2, who met us later after he got out of work. I was so happy when the three of us were sitting together again, catching up on life.
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