Tuneup

I threw my trusty steed, Schvinn, in the back of the truck and dropped off the Ranger at Boyd's Tire and Service on route 3 for a tuneup. It was still early enough so it was actually pleasantly cool while I biked up Polaris Blvd. to the office.

It immediately felt like a "positive energy" day, whatever that means. We approved two chapters of the teacher manual ahead of schedule. The team of production editors finished the last of the corrections to the index after weeks of work. I crossed paths with two smiling, beautiful women on my way downstairs to get coffee. There must be something in the air.

The call from Boyd's brought me back down to earth. My tuneup was going to cost a little over $400. I guess I haven't changed any plugs and points and condenser lately; do they even do that anymore? After resignedly hanging up the phone, I asked a trusted co-worker what he thought, and his reaction was the same as mine - $400 is too much - so I called Boyd's back to cancel. When I called Joe's Service down the street, he said he could do it today if I got there in the next hour.

I notified the authorities, hopped on the Schvinn, and rocketed down Polaris to route 3 and Boyd's, only to find they had charged me a $96 "diagnostic fee." When I balked at that, the fat clerk hemmed and hawed, talked about "no hard feelings," and we settled on $48, still too much for looking under the hood and winking. Note to self: don't get a tuneup at a tire store.

With the clock ticking, I drove to Joe's in plenty of time and described the symptoms. He told me it would be about $300 including cleaning the injectors. I biked back to the office in the midday heat and cooled off by lying down on a mat in the fitness room. That pause in the action allowed my core temperature and my psyche to level off, and I returned to my desk on the fourth floor to finalize the changes in the index.

Was the mood in my row of cubicles festive, or was it my imagination? A friend on the index team gave me a slice of spice bread with pomegranate jelly, and I can't begin to describe how delicious it was with a cup of yerba mate. I finished mastering the index corrections and took the pages downstairs to return for a third and final proof.

And not a moment too soon. I had just enough time to get on my trusty Schvinn, good horse, giddup, and fly back to Joe's about a minute before they closed at 5:00. I looked at the worn plugs and wires, paid for the work, and drive away in a smooth-running Ranger.

End of story? Not hardly. After stopping at home to change into my fourth T-shirt of the day, I went to Kinko's to make copies of a flier for my fall classes and made it to the newly expanded and renovated Rec Center in time to fill out some forms before they closed at 6:00. I needn't have hurried, because the Tae Kwon Do teacher was there for the same purpose.

Turns out there had been a miscommunication about days and times, but we straightened it out on the spot just like reasonable people, and the classes should be listed correctly when the schedule comes out next week. I looked around the new/old building, which looks great, and left some bright orange fliers at the front desk for registration.

Somehow I still had an hour to kill before my 7:30 meeting, so I got coffee at Caribou and ate my lunch sitting outside writing this and making intermitent eye contact with yet another dark-haired beauty at the next table was talking with a friend about her recent trip to Europe. Florence was wonderful!

Our regular Wednesday meeting discussed the all-too-human phenomenon of transference, which "can be our way of telling the untold story inside us" and through which, perhaps, we "can learn to notice clues about how our past is still very much alive in our present relationships." (David Richo, When the Past is Present) I don't know much about Carl Jung, and I had never heard of David Richo, but I think they're both onto something.