How Did They Do It?

We’ve had a lot of car juggling going on the past several months, which all began when the car Matt was using up in Michigan decided that it was no longer interested in bending to our wicked ways. This all started with a flat tire, and that happened when Meg was attempting to drive the car back to Illinois. Meg spent the night with Matt and ended up taking the train home the next day, a pleasant end to what was most decidedly an unpleasant weekend.

Fast forward to this morning, when Meg is attempting to retrieve the car that Matt has been borrowing for the last month and a half, and drive it back home. Just sit there for a second, look over the previous paragraph, and tell  me what happens.

Yep, you’re absolutely right.

So Meg manages to pull the thing off the road to a gas station, thank goodness there happened to be one right there, and the adventure begins. She calls me on her cell, I spring into action.

Get on the computer, find out where the hell she is, what exit number, directions on how to get there. Call Matt on his cell phone (he’s in church) and let him know to saddle up, there’s an emergency. Send directions to him on his phone so he can find his mother. Find a tire service place that is open on Sunday. Get the phone number, call them from my cell to make sure that they have the specific tire we need in stock. Then send written directions from where Meg is to where the tire service place is (on her cell) so she can get there when Matt puts the spare tire on. Transfer money from one bank account to another to ensure we can pay for the repair. Call the tire service place back to finalize plans, give them my credit card number, make sure Meg has the name of the guy I talked to. Then make a cup of coffee and toast an English muffin.

So then the thought occurs to me: back in the 1970’s, how much of the preceding scenario would be possible? The coffee and the English muffin.

How the HELL did they DO IT back then?

Without computers, Meg would have been searching around for a tire store that was open on a Sunday, never mind the fact that she couldn’t pay for the repair even if she found one. Without a cell phone, neither I nor Matt would ever have known this was even going on. By the way, I did all this from my apartment in Portland, 2000 miles away.

As I write this, Matt is following Meg to the tire repair shop, and in about 2 hours she should be re-shod, fully inspected, paid for, and back on the road — though only slightly less pissed off. This was yet another in the long string of nightmares that befall us on a semi-regular basis. But in the grand scheme of things, it could have been a million times worse. I’m sure we will all look back and laugh at this, someday.

That day is not today.