Have you ever thought that you’d rather actually go insane than have car troubles (although, those two usually go hand-in-hand, don’t they)? Of course, going insane would be worse than having car troubles, but I’ve never liked the saying “It could be worse,” because where does that forward-thinking end? Has anyone said that to you, and you said, “Fine, explain”?
“Well, you spilled soda in your lap. I understand you’re wearing new pants and are upset, but soda comes out. At least it’s not red wine. Or, even worse, hot soup.”
Yes, that much, but it can get worse than this, can’t it? Let’s go down the spiral.
“At least you didn’t scoot back your chair suddenly to dodge the soda, tip back, and smack your head on the tile. Think of the hospital bill!”
It can go further, too, the conjecturing of ever-worsening scenarios to minimize the problem at hand, but to what end? Problems are relative, and the only end of the line I’ve come across is when it really is the End of the World. Then, I guess, there’s really no need to cry over spilt milk. But if you didn’t just spill soda in your lap at the exact moment the world is ending, then I say cry over that spilt milk because things are as bad as they are when they are, and since when has maximizing a problem ever minimized one? If you can show me that, I’ll show you gasoline that can put out a fire.
These were just a few thoughts circling my head like vultures two weeks ago when twice in two days I had not one of my cars but both of my cars break down and towed away, leaving me stuck once on the side of a rural road in Burlington for a few hours with the flies, and then in a parking lot in Crystal lake for another couple hours with working cars all around me but none of them mine.
As I waited for help and tow trucks (a word you never want plural in your life) to arrive, feeling—oh, how do you say this?—minimized, perhaps, I sat watching all the working cars drive by, each one seeming to say, “Na-na-na-boo-boo.”
Both cars were taken to the same mechanic. Car No.1, my primary car, had been driven out of oil due to a leak, and Car No.2’s key cylinder (where you stick the key) busted, causing the key to not turn. Car No. 1 is finished and will never drive again. Car No.2, an aging van, is back up and running, but it’s always a crapshoot as to whether she’ll start at 6 a.m., when I’m heading out to pick up the papers from my printer down in DeKalb.
So could it be worse? Sure, it could. It could always be worse. It could be the End of the World. But is it? No, and that’s bad enough, as car troubles usually are.
Note: I’d like to thank Sun City resident Ron Wiedenfeld and his son, Kevin, for being in the Burlington area when my first car broke down and for coming to the rescue, as it were. Not that I was a damsel in distress or anything, but a friendly, familiar face when your car’s dead at an intersection (rural or not) is a fine thing indeed.
