Bob is my truck. We have been together for 8 years. Longer than any other relationship I've had. Everyone in town knows Bob. And everyone calls him by name - Bob T. Truck. Last week, Bob took a break.
I stopped at Sonic on the way home. Jackson was teaching that night, so he wouldn't be home with supper waiting on me. Far be it from me to eat anything I might possibly cook, so it was Sonic night. All was well until I started to leave. Bob would not start. No amount of cajolling, name-calling or sweet-talking would get him to budge. He's been pissy like this once or twice before and in the past all it took was a kind word and a five minute break and he was ready to go. Not this time. Not even sitting there long enough to read two articles in the two year old fishing and hunting regulation guide I found under the seat helped.
At last I gave in and called for help. My sister-in-law and niece came to pick me up, along with my bag-o-burger-heaven, which was much less heavenly than originally planned. My niece was ecstatic to be coming to my rescue and explained how she and her mother were Power Puff girls who had come to save Wonder Woman (Me, of course. I have trained her well.) from the evil Sonic/MoJo-JoJo.
When Jackson got home, we went back to Sonic to rescue Bob. Bob still would not start. Jackson pushed him out of the stall. When we got him into the open, Jackson told me to pop the hood. I couldn't think what good that would do at this point, but I did it anyway. He stuck his head under there and yelled for me to try to start the engine.
Started right up.
Jackson slammed the hood and came around to my window with a big smile on his face. "Wow! What did you do?" I was unabashedly impressed.
"I didn't do anything, I just looked at it." he grinned. He pointed back to the big Sonic windows crammed with car hops watching the scene. "But all those people in there think I am one hell of a mechanic!"