I woke with our toddler Judah this morning at 8:45. We came out to the living area to find that Jeff was already gone, but our older son Jericho was up and getting ready for the day. Being Saturday, I was a little surprised by this. But judging from the yellow pages on the counter which were opened to auto part store numbers, I knew exactly where Jeff had gone.
That our car has not been able to pass smog has been a great source of irritation to us. For my husband, it's because he is sick and tired of having to spend his Saturdays working on the darn thing. For me, it's the injustice of the smog emissions testing stations, equipped with all that high-tech machinery that is supposed to detect pollutants that are contributing to the smog problem here in the Southwest, yet have allowed city buses, big rigs and millions of other vehicles, SUV's and work trucks to pass and get back on the roads while belching out clouds of pollution at every stoplight...while our little economy car continues to 'fail' the test.
Now I'm no scientific expert, but I do have asthma, and I have driven behind that car no less than four times in the last two months (while following my husband across town to various car repair places and the smog testing station) and not once has it ever triggered an asthma attack. Nor is there a black plume of exhaust coming out of the tailpipe every time the light turns green. And did I mention that I'm following behind that car in our truck which has no air conditioning with both windows down? And no asthma?
Yet we continue to see school and city buses and numerous other vehicles with current tabs on the license plates (indicating that they've somehow managed to pass smog) on our roads. The same vehicles that cause my lungs to grow instantly fuzzy and tight just breathing the air in the same vicinity, and are basically asthma-attacks-waiting-to-happen. And I won't even go into how annoying and rude I find it that pickup-trucks-on-steroids usually end up with their tailpipes aimed squarely into the windows of our vehicle. It's gotten to where I don't bother to venture out much during the busy traffic hours of the day anymore. I enjoy being able to breathe, thank you very much.
We've had cars in the past that induced asthma attacks (and passed smog, mind you) which we were forced to get rid of for that reason, because it just wasn't worth having to use an inhaler every four hours and sleep propped up every night with aching lungs. But I can drive our little car, and even idle in it with the windows down, and not worry one iota about breathing troubles that night. Yet it continues to fail smog testing, for the same smog that is largely responsible for asthma in our area? Go figure.
So this morning, my husband text messages me from the auto parts store: Get off the phone.
Actually, I wasn't on the phone, I was on the computer (typing up an e-mail for him, no less) which often ties up our land line. Our cell phones have always served as our 'second line', which would have worked just fine if my husband had his cell-phone with him, but he had mine. That is because mine is the only one that currently works properly, having been kept in the relative safety of the special pocket on the side of my purse.
My husband made the mistake of letting our toddler play with his cell phone a few weeks ago, and it's not worked right since. Sucking on the end where the charger plugs into the phone is apparently not good for cell phones. It's now permanently stuck on something called "Car Kit", which no amount of cleaning with a toothbrush has been able to fix. It also renders the cell phone useless for anything except text-messaging. The ringing and beeping sounds, even the vibrate feature are useless on his phone, and you can't hear out of or talk into it. Which means that one has to check the display screen frequently to see if anyone has left a text message. (Oh, now isn't that handy? We might as well just go back to the days of smoke-signals!)
So Jeff had my cell phone with him while running his frustrating car-repair errands this morning, and became annoyed with me when I didn't think to look on his cell phone for the text message to get off the phone. Which was really the computer. Which I turned on in the first place to type his e-mail for him.
When he wasn't home by around 10:00am, I went for my cell phone to text him and find out where he was. It was gone. I looked on the kitchen counter and saw his phone there, and when I checked, found the above text message. It was an hour old. I knew he was going to be ticked. In this era of cell-phone technology, one should, in theory, be able to get through to someone else almost instantly. And once you've acquired a taste for (er, become dependent upon) such things, one gets easily annoyed when this does not work as it should.
So I log off and call him at my cell phone number. "Hey--"
"It's really irritating when I can't get through on the phone line!" he says curtly, and hangs up. Oh, he was ticked all right.
I call back, but can't get a word in edgewise, as he's repeating his earlier response. He hangs up again.
I try back one more time only to be greeted by the same thing. This time I hang up. Now I'm ticked. So I text him at my phone. What is irritating is that in the age of cell phone technology, we are so ghetto that we have to resort to text messaging each other because TALKING between phones doesn't work! And I notice that it is your cell phone that is responsible for this inconvenience. I press send, and can't believe we just had an argument by text-message. Or that I went and opened my big mouth (make that jumped all over his case) by text message.
I feel bad. He didn't need that. He's trying to rescue me from the headache of needing to drive him to work each morning so I have a car to use each day during the school year. As for our stupid phone situation, it is a problem easily remedied. It involves a simple trip to the phone store to get a replacement. But that is one of those many little errands that I would normally take care of during the week if I had a car at my disposal. Getting up early to drive him to work so we can have the car for said errand during summer vacation is not on my list of priorities right now. Not when it's 100 degrees outside and there is no A.C. in our 'good' vehicle.
My husband returns home, and neither of us say anything. Least said, soonest mended.
He rustles around in the garage again, and after a while, I hear the car starting up. He comes in triumphant. He was able to replace the radiator all on his own, and is now en route to another repair place to take care of the catalytic converter. We've been advised by those knowing more about cars than we do that this should do the trick. It should finally pass smog. The car is practically new inside after all the repairs that have been made over the past couple months. Which means I will finally have my truck back during the day again. And can finally get the bum cell-phone replaced.
Jeff texts me from the smog-station. The car passed smog. Praise the Lord for that!
I reply back, Jeff? You're my hero. Who needs a knight in shining armor, anyway...give me a man who will doggedly work to keep our paid-off car limping along for another year ANY day! You da man!
That our car has not been able to pass smog has been a great source of irritation to us. For my husband, it's because he is sick and tired of having to spend his Saturdays working on the darn thing. For me, it's the injustice of the smog emissions testing stations, equipped with all that high-tech machinery that is supposed to detect pollutants that are contributing to the smog problem here in the Southwest, yet have allowed city buses, big rigs and millions of other vehicles, SUV's and work trucks to pass and get back on the roads while belching out clouds of pollution at every stoplight...while our little economy car continues to 'fail' the test.
Now I'm no scientific expert, but I do have asthma, and I have driven behind that car no less than four times in the last two months (while following my husband across town to various car repair places and the smog testing station) and not once has it ever triggered an asthma attack. Nor is there a black plume of exhaust coming out of the tailpipe every time the light turns green. And did I mention that I'm following behind that car in our truck which has no air conditioning with both windows down? And no asthma?
Yet we continue to see school and city buses and numerous other vehicles with current tabs on the license plates (indicating that they've somehow managed to pass smog) on our roads. The same vehicles that cause my lungs to grow instantly fuzzy and tight just breathing the air in the same vicinity, and are basically asthma-attacks-waiting-to-happen. And I won't even go into how annoying and rude I find it that pickup-trucks-on-steroids usually end up with their tailpipes aimed squarely into the windows of our vehicle. It's gotten to where I don't bother to venture out much during the busy traffic hours of the day anymore. I enjoy being able to breathe, thank you very much.
We've had cars in the past that induced asthma attacks (and passed smog, mind you) which we were forced to get rid of for that reason, because it just wasn't worth having to use an inhaler every four hours and sleep propped up every night with aching lungs. But I can drive our little car, and even idle in it with the windows down, and not worry one iota about breathing troubles that night. Yet it continues to fail smog testing, for the same smog that is largely responsible for asthma in our area? Go figure.
So this morning, my husband text messages me from the auto parts store: Get off the phone.
Actually, I wasn't on the phone, I was on the computer (typing up an e-mail for him, no less) which often ties up our land line. Our cell phones have always served as our 'second line', which would have worked just fine if my husband had his cell-phone with him, but he had mine. That is because mine is the only one that currently works properly, having been kept in the relative safety of the special pocket on the side of my purse.
My husband made the mistake of letting our toddler play with his cell phone a few weeks ago, and it's not worked right since. Sucking on the end where the charger plugs into the phone is apparently not good for cell phones. It's now permanently stuck on something called "Car Kit", which no amount of cleaning with a toothbrush has been able to fix. It also renders the cell phone useless for anything except text-messaging. The ringing and beeping sounds, even the vibrate feature are useless on his phone, and you can't hear out of or talk into it. Which means that one has to check the display screen frequently to see if anyone has left a text message. (Oh, now isn't that handy? We might as well just go back to the days of smoke-signals!)
So Jeff had my cell phone with him while running his frustrating car-repair errands this morning, and became annoyed with me when I didn't think to look on his cell phone for the text message to get off the phone. Which was really the computer. Which I turned on in the first place to type his e-mail for him.
When he wasn't home by around 10:00am, I went for my cell phone to text him and find out where he was. It was gone. I looked on the kitchen counter and saw his phone there, and when I checked, found the above text message. It was an hour old. I knew he was going to be ticked. In this era of cell-phone technology, one should, in theory, be able to get through to someone else almost instantly. And once you've acquired a taste for (er, become dependent upon) such things, one gets easily annoyed when this does not work as it should.
So I log off and call him at my cell phone number. "Hey--"
"It's really irritating when I can't get through on the phone line!" he says curtly, and hangs up. Oh, he was ticked all right.
I call back, but can't get a word in edgewise, as he's repeating his earlier response. He hangs up again.
I try back one more time only to be greeted by the same thing. This time I hang up. Now I'm ticked. So I text him at my phone. What is irritating is that in the age of cell phone technology, we are so ghetto that we have to resort to text messaging each other because TALKING between phones doesn't work! And I notice that it is your cell phone that is responsible for this inconvenience. I press send, and can't believe we just had an argument by text-message. Or that I went and opened my big mouth (make that jumped all over his case) by text message.
I feel bad. He didn't need that. He's trying to rescue me from the headache of needing to drive him to work each morning so I have a car to use each day during the school year. As for our stupid phone situation, it is a problem easily remedied. It involves a simple trip to the phone store to get a replacement. But that is one of those many little errands that I would normally take care of during the week if I had a car at my disposal. Getting up early to drive him to work so we can have the car for said errand during summer vacation is not on my list of priorities right now. Not when it's 100 degrees outside and there is no A.C. in our 'good' vehicle.
My husband returns home, and neither of us say anything. Least said, soonest mended.
He rustles around in the garage again, and after a while, I hear the car starting up. He comes in triumphant. He was able to replace the radiator all on his own, and is now en route to another repair place to take care of the catalytic converter. We've been advised by those knowing more about cars than we do that this should do the trick. It should finally pass smog. The car is practically new inside after all the repairs that have been made over the past couple months. Which means I will finally have my truck back during the day again. And can finally get the bum cell-phone replaced.
Jeff texts me from the smog-station. The car passed smog. Praise the Lord for that!
I reply back, Jeff? You're my hero. Who needs a knight in shining armor, anyway...give me a man who will doggedly work to keep our paid-off car limping along for another year ANY day! You da man!
1 comment:
LOL. Too funny.
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