The saga of my car continued on Tuesday morning, when I drove into Milwaukee on my beyone-bald tires to meet Natalie's "Uncle Tim," and have him look at my car for me.
"Please, Lord, just let me make it to Uncle Tim's garage safely," I prayed as I drove. "Please, don't let my tires blow out. If I can at least get to Uncle Tim, I will be where somebody who knows about cars can help me. But if my tires go out before I get to him...." I let my thought trail off, not even able to think how I would deal with that situation. I repeated, "Please, Lord, just let me make it to Uncle Tim's garage safely."
Now when Natalie confirmed that Uncle Tim has his own garage, I was pretty sure she meant a commercial auto shop. So imagine my surprize when I pulled up in front of a residence. Still, I was there by the grace of God and via a series of minor miracles, so I put on a smile as I got out of my car to meet my new "uncle" and see what my heavenly father had laid out before me.
Walking up the driveway, I swallowed hard as I smiled at a large, black man in blue-gray coveralls, "Uncle Tim?"
Silently, the man nodded towards the open garage.
I poked my head around the corner of a van to peer into the garage, "Uncle Tim?"
There he was, already on his way out of the garage, shop rag in hand and wiping around some kind of doo-dad in his hand. When I spoke his name, his gaze turned upward from the thingy in his hand to reveal soft, dark eyes and a slightly round face, with just a dusting of gray on his chin.
"I'm Gino's friend," I offered. (Gino is Natalie's nickname "in the 'hood.")
"Oh, Gino's friend?" (The first words I heard him speak.) "Well, come on this way into the house and meet Brenda. I just be a minute. I gotta give this guy his... Brenda? ...Where are you? ...This Gino's friend. She want me to look at her car fo' her."
"Gino's friend?" A short, round woman appeared to greet me and Uncle Tim disappeared to the garage again.
"Well, come on in the living room and sit down," she ushered, "I'll be right back. I just..." I forget exactly what it was that she said, but she was busy with her children.
It was not a problem. I was not really expecting to be entertained. I had come to see what Uncle Tim thought about fixing my car and had brought my computer to keep myself occupied while he looked at it. Looking back after meeting these warm and friendly people, though, I see how culterally strange that must have appeared.
Two hours passed in no time. Brenda and I talked and played show and tell. (I showed pictures of my family that were on my computer, a copy of my second book that I happened to have on me, talked about my brother the Jazz guitarist and so on. She, of course, had her house and family right there to show me and talk about.) Then I got to talk to Uncle Tim about my car, we went shopping together for car parts and then he gave me his price for the labor.
"Is this too much?" Uncle Tim asked.
I paused to think, "Well, this guy seems pretty straight-up. I know his niece, so I think he will look out for me... I can charge all the parts I need to my credit card, so that eases the immediate burden on my bank account... and I do need the work done so that I can safely drive my car."
"I'll find it," I nodded.
"Okay, give me $50 now so I know you're coming back."
"What would I do with all these car parts if I didn't come back?" I thought.
But aloud, I said, "I don't have $50 with me." I opened my wallet to pull out all my cash: $35. "I need to keep a dollar," I put the $5 bill back in my wallet. "Will $30 do?"
"Alright," Uncle Tim accepted my $30. "Now you'll come back. What time you going to be here tomorrow?"
We arranged the time for first thing in the morning before I dropped him back at home so that I could pick up my tires and go home for the day. Before I left, it was made clear that I needed to have my tires mounted on the rims because Uncle Tim does not have the equipment to mount tires. I agreed and proceeded on to my part of the car repair mission.
I was feeling pretty good when I went to pick up my tires (although I was even more scared to drive my car after Uncle Tim confirmed how dangerous it was to drive on them in their condition). Then I could not find a place to mount them for me until Monday. I called to see if Uncle Tim knew anywhere I could go, but I only got the voice mail. So I left a message. Then, with a sigh of frustration, I called my local auto shop and made a rim mounting appointment for Monday.
Little did I know the fun adventure that would unfold from being unable to mount my tires before returning to Uncle Tim.
-- To Be Continued --
~Beth Durkee
"Please, Lord, just let me make it to Uncle Tim's garage safely," I prayed as I drove. "Please, don't let my tires blow out. If I can at least get to Uncle Tim, I will be where somebody who knows about cars can help me. But if my tires go out before I get to him...." I let my thought trail off, not even able to think how I would deal with that situation. I repeated, "Please, Lord, just let me make it to Uncle Tim's garage safely."
Now when Natalie confirmed that Uncle Tim has his own garage, I was pretty sure she meant a commercial auto shop. So imagine my surprize when I pulled up in front of a residence. Still, I was there by the grace of God and via a series of minor miracles, so I put on a smile as I got out of my car to meet my new "uncle" and see what my heavenly father had laid out before me.
Walking up the driveway, I swallowed hard as I smiled at a large, black man in blue-gray coveralls, "Uncle Tim?"
Silently, the man nodded towards the open garage.
I poked my head around the corner of a van to peer into the garage, "Uncle Tim?"
There he was, already on his way out of the garage, shop rag in hand and wiping around some kind of doo-dad in his hand. When I spoke his name, his gaze turned upward from the thingy in his hand to reveal soft, dark eyes and a slightly round face, with just a dusting of gray on his chin.
"I'm Gino's friend," I offered. (Gino is Natalie's nickname "in the 'hood.")
"Oh, Gino's friend?" (The first words I heard him speak.) "Well, come on this way into the house and meet Brenda. I just be a minute. I gotta give this guy his... Brenda? ...Where are you? ...This Gino's friend. She want me to look at her car fo' her."
"Gino's friend?" A short, round woman appeared to greet me and Uncle Tim disappeared to the garage again.
"Well, come on in the living room and sit down," she ushered, "I'll be right back. I just..." I forget exactly what it was that she said, but she was busy with her children.
It was not a problem. I was not really expecting to be entertained. I had come to see what Uncle Tim thought about fixing my car and had brought my computer to keep myself occupied while he looked at it. Looking back after meeting these warm and friendly people, though, I see how culterally strange that must have appeared.
Two hours passed in no time. Brenda and I talked and played show and tell. (I showed pictures of my family that were on my computer, a copy of my second book that I happened to have on me, talked about my brother the Jazz guitarist and so on. She, of course, had her house and family right there to show me and talk about.) Then I got to talk to Uncle Tim about my car, we went shopping together for car parts and then he gave me his price for the labor.
"Is this too much?" Uncle Tim asked.
I paused to think, "Well, this guy seems pretty straight-up. I know his niece, so I think he will look out for me... I can charge all the parts I need to my credit card, so that eases the immediate burden on my bank account... and I do need the work done so that I can safely drive my car."
"I'll find it," I nodded.
"Okay, give me $50 now so I know you're coming back."
"What would I do with all these car parts if I didn't come back?" I thought.
But aloud, I said, "I don't have $50 with me." I opened my wallet to pull out all my cash: $35. "I need to keep a dollar," I put the $5 bill back in my wallet. "Will $30 do?"
"Alright," Uncle Tim accepted my $30. "Now you'll come back. What time you going to be here tomorrow?"
We arranged the time for first thing in the morning before I dropped him back at home so that I could pick up my tires and go home for the day. Before I left, it was made clear that I needed to have my tires mounted on the rims because Uncle Tim does not have the equipment to mount tires. I agreed and proceeded on to my part of the car repair mission.
I was feeling pretty good when I went to pick up my tires (although I was even more scared to drive my car after Uncle Tim confirmed how dangerous it was to drive on them in their condition). Then I could not find a place to mount them for me until Monday. I called to see if Uncle Tim knew anywhere I could go, but I only got the voice mail. So I left a message. Then, with a sigh of frustration, I called my local auto shop and made a rim mounting appointment for Monday.
Little did I know the fun adventure that would unfold from being unable to mount my tires before returning to Uncle Tim.
-- To Be Continued --
~Beth Durkee
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