The things one is reminded of...
Nov. 26th, 2002 07:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
semperfionaMaking plans for the NYE 'boink, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aliciar remarked about getting lost in NC, which through the usual process of strange brain-connections reminded me of my first solo road trip as a freshman in college, in my first car Myrtle, named after the beach.
Myrtle was a 1978 Chevy Impala station wagon. Brown. Not the kind of car a college student really wants, not even in the top 50, but she was reliable, sturdy--and free (my parents bought her for me). Over the years I did make quite a few good memories in that car, and I ended up keeping her until Ray and I moved to England in January of 1993. By that time she was falling to bits.
I drove from Bloomington to Columbia, SC to spend a weekend with Britton, on whom I had a massive and long-standing crush. It's a nine-hour drive, more or less. I drove alone; many people were astounded that I would do that. I thought nothing of it, and left very early in the morning. Somewhere in the wilds of Kentucky--hadn't seen a town or freeway exit for some miles, anyway--I started to notice the rearview mirror vibrating. I thought that was rather odd, and after a few minutes stopped the car to investigate. I got out and looked around the car. The rear passenger tire's radial belt had split in two width-wise, and the ends were sticking out about a foot each. I was *thisclose* to having had a blowout.
I set to work getting out the spare tire and jacking up the car. Soon a man in a pickup truck, nay, two different men in two different pickup trucks, stopped to offer help. They settled between themselves on who would do the work, and the extra one drove off. I wasn't allowed to do any more of the tire-changing. When he'd finished, he wished me good luck and left. I continued on my way, met Britton only an hour or two later than planned, and first thing the next morning we went to a tire shop to buy a replacement spare.
The tire which had blown had originally been on the car; I can't remember the exact sequence of events which led up to it, but somehow it had migrated from the right side to the left through a course of punctures and use of spares. As I was told by the tire salesman, radials have to stay on the side of the car they're originally installed on. Not a fact of which 18-year-old me was cognizant, but one I've never forgotten since!
This and other such stories are why I'm generally a believer in the goodness of people. The kindness of strangers has saved my ass several times, or simply saved me time or money. I've been hurt far worse by people I knew and loved and by myself than I ever have by strangers.
It's also the reason I try to behave likewise. I believe in paying it forward to increase the amount of kindness and generosity in the world.
aliciar remarked about getting lost in NC, which through the usual process of strange brain-connections reminded me of my first solo road trip as a freshman in college, in my first car Myrtle, named after the beach. Myrtle was a 1978 Chevy Impala station wagon. Brown. Not the kind of car a college student really wants, not even in the top 50, but she was reliable, sturdy--and free (my parents bought her for me). Over the years I did make quite a few good memories in that car, and I ended up keeping her until Ray and I moved to England in January of 1993. By that time she was falling to bits.
I drove from Bloomington to Columbia, SC to spend a weekend with Britton, on whom I had a massive and long-standing crush. It's a nine-hour drive, more or less. I drove alone; many people were astounded that I would do that. I thought nothing of it, and left very early in the morning. Somewhere in the wilds of Kentucky--hadn't seen a town or freeway exit for some miles, anyway--I started to notice the rearview mirror vibrating. I thought that was rather odd, and after a few minutes stopped the car to investigate. I got out and looked around the car. The rear passenger tire's radial belt had split in two width-wise, and the ends were sticking out about a foot each. I was *thisclose* to having had a blowout.
I set to work getting out the spare tire and jacking up the car. Soon a man in a pickup truck, nay, two different men in two different pickup trucks, stopped to offer help. They settled between themselves on who would do the work, and the extra one drove off. I wasn't allowed to do any more of the tire-changing. When he'd finished, he wished me good luck and left. I continued on my way, met Britton only an hour or two later than planned, and first thing the next morning we went to a tire shop to buy a replacement spare.
The tire which had blown had originally been on the car; I can't remember the exact sequence of events which led up to it, but somehow it had migrated from the right side to the left through a course of punctures and use of spares. As I was told by the tire salesman, radials have to stay on the side of the car they're originally installed on. Not a fact of which 18-year-old me was cognizant, but one I've never forgotten since!
This and other such stories are why I'm generally a believer in the goodness of people. The kindness of strangers has saved my ass several times, or simply saved me time or money. I've been hurt far worse by people I knew and loved and by myself than I ever have by strangers.
It's also the reason I try to behave likewise. I believe in paying it forward to increase the amount of kindness and generosity in the world.
