| General Non-Fiction posted June 15, 2019 | Chapters: |
...10 11 -12- 13... 
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The challenges of house-to-house lessons
A chapter in the book Lessons in the Key of Life
Car Stories
by Rachelle Allen
In any line of work that requires travel, the vehicle by which one gets from Point A to Point B is an integral part of life. In my case, a lot of thought goes into selecting my car because it is the first impression a family gets of me when I park in their driveway and the lasting image once I leave. Sometimes, though, these families also manage to leave a lasting impression on MY car when they leave!
On eleven --count 'em, eleven-- different occasions, I have been inside a piano family's house when my car has been hit. I'm on a first-name basis with everyone at the collision shop I patronize in my neighborhood. I know they mean it when they smile and say, "See ya soon!" every time I head for the exit.
The mea culpas from the piano parents who've hit me are a pretty uniform rendition of "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. I forgot you were here, and I just backed out and never looked. Please forgive me."
But one woman, a blunt and harried mother of five, had a different offering. She popped her head around the opened front door, directly across from my chair at the piano, and barked, "Shelley, I just hit your car. We'll figure it out when I get back." Slam.
Later, when she returned, she explained. "Yeah, I heard this scraping sound as I backed up, and I just figured, 'Aw, man, we've got to prune those bushes on the side of the driveway.' And then, all of a sudden, I realized we don't have bushes on that side of the driveway."
Lesson: Sometimes, even when you think you're safe, you're still in harm's way.
I loved Star, my Jetta Trek. (Get it? Star TREK?) I found her perfect for me from the moment I saw her: lipstick red outside, black upholstered inside, with a sun roof I could control with the touch of a button. In fact, just about everything about her was button-activated: the seats, the windows, the locks, the trunk, the hood, the gas door. She made me feel hip and savvy.
But, as with other close relationships, the traits that one adores at the beginning can be the same traits that make one crazy by the end. If I'm fair, though, I have to admit that a big part of my disillusionment with Star happened because I didn't let her go when I should have, and she retaliated.
I'd push the remote to activate her locks, and she'd make her trunk pop open. I'd try to open her sunroof, and she'd respond by having the windows in all four doors go down, instead. I'd push the button to eject the gas door, and I'd watch the hood pop up. The final straw for us, though, came the day she engaged her alarm system each and every time I turned off her engine. And the only way I could vanquish her sirens was by running around, like a Keystone Cop, to the passenger's side and inserting my key into the lock...only to watch as all four windows went down...on a day when it was pouring.
She made us a laughingstock, and I banished her from my life. Still to this day, when I run into families I haven't seen in years, they will laugh and say, "Hey, remember that day when it was raining so hard and you had that red car..."
Lesson: If you allow things their dignity and don't push them beyond their limit, then you will save everyone an endless aftermath of humiliation and pain.
Next: A pirate story.
OOPS
On eleven --count 'em, eleven-- different occasions, I have been inside a piano family's house when my car has been hit. I'm on a first-name basis with everyone at the collision shop I patronize in my neighborhood. I know they mean it when they smile and say, "See ya soon!" every time I head for the exit.
The mea culpas from the piano parents who've hit me are a pretty uniform rendition of "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. I forgot you were here, and I just backed out and never looked. Please forgive me."
But one woman, a blunt and harried mother of five, had a different offering. She popped her head around the opened front door, directly across from my chair at the piano, and barked, "Shelley, I just hit your car. We'll figure it out when I get back." Slam.
Later, when she returned, she explained. "Yeah, I heard this scraping sound as I backed up, and I just figured, 'Aw, man, we've got to prune those bushes on the side of the driveway.' And then, all of a sudden, I realized we don't have bushes on that side of the driveway."
Lesson: Sometimes, even when you think you're safe, you're still in harm's way.
FORCED RETIREMENT
I loved Star, my Jetta Trek. (Get it? Star TREK?) I found her perfect for me from the moment I saw her: lipstick red outside, black upholstered inside, with a sun roof I could control with the touch of a button. In fact, just about everything about her was button-activated: the seats, the windows, the locks, the trunk, the hood, the gas door. She made me feel hip and savvy.
But, as with other close relationships, the traits that one adores at the beginning can be the same traits that make one crazy by the end. If I'm fair, though, I have to admit that a big part of my disillusionment with Star happened because I didn't let her go when I should have, and she retaliated.
I'd push the remote to activate her locks, and she'd make her trunk pop open. I'd try to open her sunroof, and she'd respond by having the windows in all four doors go down, instead. I'd push the button to eject the gas door, and I'd watch the hood pop up. The final straw for us, though, came the day she engaged her alarm system each and every time I turned off her engine. And the only way I could vanquish her sirens was by running around, like a Keystone Cop, to the passenger's side and inserting my key into the lock...only to watch as all four windows went down...on a day when it was pouring.
She made us a laughingstock, and I banished her from my life. Still to this day, when I run into families I haven't seen in years, they will laugh and say, "Hey, remember that day when it was raining so hard and you had that red car..."
Lesson: If you allow things their dignity and don't push them beyond their limit, then you will save everyone an endless aftermath of humiliation and pain.
Next: A pirate story.
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