You Never Know Unless You Ask

Eventually this will be a blog about movies again - but for now I'd just like to pass on a tale of astounding kindness and generosity. No, I'm not talking about myself. I'm talking about one of my co-workers: Nathan.

Lately I've been throwing good money after bad trying to keep my Jeep looking newish. Last weekend I drove Sissy's Wrangler - I've been through hell and back in that Jeep. Actually, to Quincy California and back but that's close enough - and I happened to notice that the clutch was a little short, so short in fact that it actually kicked back. According to Sissy, there was nothing wrong with it, which isn't exactly what I was saying but Sissy doesn't always exactly listen. According to Bobby, who actually fitted the clutch, that's what a good clutch does. My clutch has never done that, and it was fine until this morning (I think). After a hot and sweaty day at the beach - it was 104 degrees - there I was in my lemon capris, flip-flops, and a skimpy tee shirt with a cutting slogan about the President when I found myself out of eye drops and without a clutch.

I paid the horrendous parking chit and walked back to the Jeep. I unlocked the Jeep and noticed the faint smell of airbag. They smell of gunpowder or latex powder or some other dust, at least that's the first thing I smell after an accident. I didn't think anything of it after quickly noting that a great balloon had not deflated over my steering wheel and put it down to the immense heat inside the Wrangler possibly warming the vinyl accents a little too much. I put the key in the ignition and pushed in the clutch. Immediately I noted to myself that the clutch felt a bit long - a little too long. There was no pressure on the pedal. I had a flashback to Quincy and got out to check if there was a fluid leak. Nope. The answer to the mystery was a little plastic housing that had fallen on the floor of the Jeep as I pushed in the clutch the second time. This little piece of plastic was meant to prevent the clutch cable from separating from the clutch pedal. One would think that the geniuses at Daimler could at least design a decent, cost-effective clasp like those folks at Toyota - but one would be wrong.

I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off for a few minutes, calling the dealership and being told that they wouldn't be able to even look at it until Monday. FTS. I called for a tow, which I later cancelled because of my new best friend Nathan.

[Cue Nathan] I showed up for my first day of work on Monday and spoke to a hunky Indian dude about parking availability. I would later know this dude as Nathan. Note: If I were a chick, I'd give him my number - after today only.

I went outside of Looch's hovel to wait for the tow, which I hadn't cancelled yet and noticed Nathan getting into his Toyota Forerunner. Hmmm, should I? Shouldn't I? What the hell, he drives a 4x4.

Had I not asked Nathan about clutches, I'd be sitting here drinking my Red Stripe, what tastes a bit like Welch's, Jeepless and worried out of my skull. But I did ask. "Oy! Know anyfing about clutches?"

To his credit, he could have been normal and told me to fuck off, but instead he said "Ummm, a little bit". One look under the bonnet and he said that my clutch cable had come loose. Okay, he and I work a slacker's dream job, so I figured we'd leave it at that, smoke a joint and I'd pass the information on to the tow truck driver. No triggers of Wolf Creek here, thankfully.

Instead, he officially introduced himself and rummaged around in the footwell of the Wrangler and re-attached the cable to the pedal, blindly. He told me to poke around a bit which was a mistake because I promptly knocked the cable loose again.

"No problem! We've got zip strips". He shoved his way back into the hovel and came out with some plastic thingies and proceeded to spend the next hour fixing my clutch pedal. Nobody came to check the parking meters so I was happy about that. The best assistance I could muster was to push the interior light sensor closed - which was really hard - so that Nate wasn't staring at a white light bulb the whole time. I cancelled the tow and Nathan got the cable secured to the pedal. Wonderful! He kept apologizing about his sweating, which I figured was a little perspiration and forgivable on account of the temperature - but he wasn't kidding. By the time he was done, he was positively drenched and I felt like a real asshole. I had nothing to give this guy and all he wanted was to make sure that the pedal worked. He told me to take a lap and see how it managed. I've got to take the Jeep into the dealership at the beginning of August and I'll have it looked at properlike at that time, but for now it works perfectly.

When I came back he gave me his hand phone - just in case there was an emergency on the way home - and then went to pick up his dog. I felt like a real piece of shit now. A near-stranger had fixed my clutch, given me his hand phone for the weekend and I've done nothing but keep him from his puppy.

I've got to say it - I was humbled yet again. This beach gig ends at the end of August, and I hate it when people like Nathan disappear into the woodwork. These are the kind of people that should be recognized and retained by employers on a long term basis.

Thank you Nathan.