The wife is a great mechanic. If we run out of gas she says tighten the license plate. If the radio doesn’t work, she says roll up the window. . . that kind of mechanic.
A couple of weeks ago she went to start the truck and it wouldn’t. She concluded the battery went dead because the temperature had dropped (to 70) and she had failed to close the passenger door properly.
Other than the temperature part, we agreed.
Got the battery charged up and it started like a charm. No more problems.
Until Saturday!
She called from the library saying the truck wouldn’t start, so bring the charger and the long extension cord. We called the daughter and she came to save the day with some cables and a ride.
No need in hauling all that other stuff!
She has an odd car with the battery in the trunk and the cables weren’t long enough. The man parked next to us was in the pool hall and he came out to give us a hand.
No success!
Lights work. Radio works. Locks work. Wipers work. It just won’t start.
“It’s a bad battery,” she says. “Go get the charger.”
We proceeded to get back in the car, cussing by the way, and proceed back to the house.
Understand that our back is killing us and we can hardly walk. The arthritis in our right hand is sending pain through our fingers and on top of that, it starts to rain.
We returned, hooked it up and plugged everything in to the library, left here there and returned home.
But not without a few choice words about how this wasn’t going to work.
“It’s a bad battery”, was her only comment . . . well, along with a few choice words about my mental capacity.
Nothing worked. Battery charger. Changing relays. Checking fuses. Borrowing tools. Countless trips back and forth for this and that. Nothing.
Nothing, that is, except the constant “It’s a bad battery” “It’s a bad battery”!
Sunday was a brighter day. We had determined that to keep the peace we would remove the battery and once and for all SHUT HER THE HELL UP!
Everyone in the downtown area and East Newbern was privy to our conservation as to our feelings.
With battery in tow, she headed off to have the battery checked. We refused to go, because we refused to be laughed at by the guy who checked the battery.
Fixed some ice and a drink, got a bag of chips and tuned in the Falcons and Redskins.
And then the phone rang.
“It’s a bad battery,” she said. I swear I heard a silent hahahahaha, I told you so, but I didn’t.
Well, at least the Falcons won.
Damn it! Now I’ve gotta call Joe Hall and see if he has any crows!
