Terrible things seem to occur in terrible weather. Monday was a night plucked from an Alfred Hitchcock film. Temperatures hovered in the mid-30s; an icy rain splattered the streets, and the too-early dark made Columbus feel like she was wearing a shroud.
Chris and I planned a quick jaunt to Kroger. We were in a hurry to get home to our children and beautiful, sparkling tree. Alas, this was not to be.
When we were ready to leave, the car’s engine sputtered and rattled like the last gasps of a dying animal. All the dashboard lights flashed on, then off. I understood that it was trying to tell us something, but we do not speak the language of autos.
Everyone knows that feeling — the helplessness, the terror, the realization that we could not find the phone number for road service.
I suggested that Chris go into the Advance Auto Parts store that shares the parking lot with Kroger.
“Why?” he asked. “They don’t do repairs.”
“I know. But they might tell us what’s wrong.” A logical assumption, right?
Chris went into the store, with great reluctance and skepticism. There was no need to worry about the groceries in the trunk. They were colder than the inside of our refrigerator.
He returned with Shon Irick, the store’s manager. You would have thought this man was disarming a bomb. Shon spoke to me in a very calm voice. (Maybe I looked to him like the hysterical type.) He stood in freezing rain, without hat or gloves, peered under the hood, and asked for details about the car’s “behavior.” He insisted that I remain in the car, genuinely concerned that I would be cold. I have met valium victims with less patience. He also connected a small computer that gave him readings about the car’s innermost workings, and probably emotions, as well. The prognosis was not good.
There was only one not-so-bad possibility out of some potentially very costly findings. Although the gas gauge was not registering empty, he thought it sounded like it was not getting fuel. Shon sent a co-worker to buy gas, then he put some in the tank. He would not even let us pay for the gas, or accept a tip. The car started instantly. It was my Christmas miracle!
Our parking-lot knight suggested that the gas tank may have some water in it. (Evidently, there is water in all gas, which only becomes a problem when the fuel is quite low. Who knew?) He also suspected that the gauge was not accurate. Shon asked us to come back in a few days to tell him how the car was feeling.
We drove off amazed at the incredible service and comfort we received. I was a bit teary, but so comforted by the sense of serenity we received from this kind man. I cannot believe that this was all just part of his job. Chris has penned a glowing letter to the corporate offices of Advance Auto Parts.
The next day, we went to Tina Watkins’ place to fill up. Shon had suggested we should check the mileage, to learn if the gas gauge was the culprit.
As Chris stood at the pump, I noticed a young woman in the car next to me. She was turning the ignition, but the car would not start. I could hear the click, but nothing happened.
“I have a new starter,” she told me. “I know it will start eventually.” My recently-acquired auto expertise made me wonder why a “new” starter did not work.
Amazingly, at that moment, our good friend, J. D., showed up, more of a Christmas coincidence than a miracle. He and Chris offered to push her car to the side, and then we would take her home. She appeared happy with this suggestion. As it turned out, after about 15 minutes, her car actually did roar to life, just as she had said it would. We all waved good-bye and went on our way.
I suppose I really wanted to help this young lady as sort of a payback for the generosity we experienced the night before. That is a debt I still owe. It is unlikely that Shon Irick will ever need any help from Chris and me (especially car-related help). Nevertheless, the obligation has not been repaid. We owe it to the universe, if not directly to him. Karma is like that.
If you know Shon, give him a big hug, and congratulate yourself on having such a fine man as your friend. Let’s face it, we are all traveling on this planet together (and what a rough trip it is!). Kindness and humanity should not be just a Christmas time miracle.
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.
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