It's Always Something, Even When It's Nothing
Last week, my zero-turn lawnmower stopped turning, or moving altogether for that matter. Apparently, a stick had hit the tensioner spring just right, which caused the hydrostatic drive belt to jump off and self-destruct. The belt flayed itself into rubber ribbons that wrapped tightly around a pulley. I spent the rest of the afternoon on my back underneath the blocked up lawnmower. Just to reach the pulley and untangle the tattered belt, I had to remove the clutch.
“It’s always something,” I thought several times, as I laid there staring up at the underbelly of the mower. When Natalie got home from work, she walked across the yard toward me. Before I even had a chance to crawl out from underneath the mower and convey my general tidings of lawncare woe, she conveyed her general tidings of car care woe.
“Can you take my car to have it looked at?” she asked. I am competent enough to fix a drive belt on a lawnmower, but I generally outsource car maintenance to the professionals.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.
“It’s making a grinding noise,” she said.
“Good grief, it’s always something,” I muttered, as I started thinking about all the high price repairs a grinding noise might indicate. Since we were going out of town later that week for a conference and taking my car, I dropped her car off at the mechanic’s shop before we left. The owner of the shop called me a couple days later and said his technicians couldn’t get the car to make the sound and everything appeared safe to drive.
“Great,” I said over the phone, “How much do I owe you for looking at it?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Just come by and get it anytime.”
“Maybe it’s not always something--maybe it’s just nothing,” I thought to myself as I picked up the car and blissfully drove it home. Natalie had dropped me off and was following me home. When we got home, she rushed up to me and broached another minor point of concern.
“They wrecked my car!!!” she said. “Look at the back bumper! I would have called you but I didn’t have my cell phone.”
I walked around to look at the rear of the car, and sure enough there was a crater in the corner of the back bumper.
Natalie and I then took her car back to the shop. At first, I wondered if the owner was trying to pull one over on us, but he seemed as oblivious to knowledge of the damage as I had been. He checked the surveillance footage, and sure enough an employee had backed another truck into ours and didn’t tell anyone. The owner apologized profusely and said he would handle it and cover all costs.
“It’s always something,” the owner sighed, as we left. Indeed, it always is.