So, I now live in a small town in northern Virginia, not to be confused with "Northern Virginia." I did not always live here. I grew up in a large metropolis in beautiful sunny southern California. Yup, you read that correctly, I moved here willingly. I thought it would be a nice change of pace, that it would let me explore my "granola" side a bit more. I thought I had moved to the country (I also thought I moved to New England), it was explained to me that this wasn't the country.
In fact, we are a fairly large city with a Costco and TWO Super WalMarts! "Okay." I said with a giggle, this is a city?! "No, we are not city folk here. We are not counrty bumpkins, either. We are townies. " My wonderful, patient friend explained. What is a townie? Tonight I got to see first hand and am thankful for the experience.
(After reading this next part, my father is going to promptly call me up, and rightfully so, chew my butt off)
My lovely American-made 4-wheel drive SUV decided that it was time to remind me that I have obligations to my vehicle. Like my cat, I feed it and pet it (wash), but I also need to take it in to get a check up on occassion. You know, things like check the oil and other fluids in the car. You see, this car came with me from the west coast, and hasn't really been adjusted to this climate, like myself.
So today and tonight, it kept shifting on the fly into 4 wheel drive. The light wouldblink at me, saying"you need more traction!" I was sitting in park in a parking lot. The light continued to blink at me, mocking me. I saw my tax refund flying out the window as I tried to figure out how I was going to drive to work in the morning for 45 miles in 4x4. The light blinked more.
My wonderful patient friend was with me discussing a very important move in her life, and I was completely fixated on the blinking light. I couldn't hear a word she said. I couldn't see anything else.
Just the light.
Crap. My friend then offered to follow me home and push my car if it needed it with hers. Give me a lift and the number of Boyce, the best mechanic in the valley. I get a slight thought flittering through my head as drive. I haven't had the oil changed since LAST YEAR! Which was the last time the fluids were checked at best. (go ahead daddy, I deserve it) I pull into the gas station by my house, explain the situation to my friend and pop the hood.
I look for the correct dip stick and discover: 1. I'm out of coolant/antifreeze (not good this time of year) 2. out washer fluid (that would help get the salt off the windsheild) 3. Out of Transmission fluid (I am praying I didn't do major damage) 4. the brake fluid, fortunately was full. I didn't check the oil.
Here is where living in a small town is great. I go inside to get an assortment of fluids, having no idea that there are different types, and before I can blink, have multiple men from 18 to 80 handing me the correct fluids and then, once paid for, putting them in my car. It is 23 degrees F outside right now with a bitter wind and there were 4 men who didn't know each other or me helping me out. And yes, one did make me promise to take the car in tomorrow and get it looked over.
They closed the hood, gave me smiles and waves and were off about their own business. I get in the car and turn it on. I shift through each gear like they told me to do. Waiting at least 3-5 seconds in each one before shifting again. I am holding my breath. The light stays off. It stays in 2 wheel drive.
I don't want to jinx myself, but I will say, it had to help the issue. I will take it in tomorrow like I promised. I should have gotten their names and addresses to send them all thank you notes and mittens. Now I can use my refund for that Malabrigo sock yarn.
I love townies.