Deprived of Motivation
My car went to the shop yesterday. It stayed there.
I drove the car over and commenced waiting. I don't have a significant other or family in the area, so I don't have anyone who MUST give me a ride when my car breaks. I brought books and my German homework and set up camp in the Honda dealership lobby. There was a nice supply of people continually hurrying around. It was rather relaxing to be at the center of this whirling arena.
There were two types of car salesmen walking the floor: the new guys and the old guys. The new guys were wearing extremely pale blue-gray oxford shirts with short sleeves. They looked young. They didn't talk much, except to each other. They were instructed on the characteristics of the new model RAV-4, vs. previous models, and also how to tell the trim lines apart. Apparently, they don't sell the Camry EX here in Kansas City, because that's the model that doesn't have air conditioning.
The old guys wore button down shirts in bold colors. They had short haircuts, no facial hair, and moved swiftly with purpose wherever they were headed, even if it was just the automatic coffee machine.
The hours passed, and the mechanic finally came out to tell me that there were four things wrong. Two were related to the heat problem, and two weren't. All told, the repairs will cost approximately $620.
But.
There's a required part that's coming from their warehouse in Ohio. It will arrive the next day (today). I hitch up my backpack and my doubles-as-a-walking-stick umbrella, and start walking home. I have a rough idea how far it is. I mean, it's right over there!
It was a pleasant, overcast day so the temperature was good for walking. Apparently, between the dealership and my home lies a large hill. I estimate at least a 10% grade, and it took a fair amount of effort to hike up. It turns out I didn't REALLY have a good idea how far it was. What looked like a close distance on overhead maps turned out to be about 4.3 miles on actual roads.
It was good exercise, and I'm glad I brought my umbrella because a torrential (but brief) rainstorm occurred about half a mile from my destination. I was the only person using the sidewalks during my entire route. No dog walkers, no joggers, no people taking trash to the curb. Nothing.
The only "on foot" people I saw were the Hispanic work crews. More so than any place I've lived, the lawn and garden crews are Hispanic. The construction crews (but not the supervisors) are Hispanic. The street repair crews are white (go figure), but I didn't see any yesterday.
Stuck to the back of one of the street signs was the remnants of someone's location game. It was a note, slightly yellowed, that read, "Christine, find the next clue where the ducks wear sandals." Based on only this information, I could never have found the next clue. Who knows how long the note has been stuck there. Did Christine ever find the end? What was her reward? Or did she give up, not knowing anything about mallards and footwear, leaving her prospective fiance holding a ring forever?
I passed by the house in Kansas City that I think most about. As a rule, I don't really ponder houses much, but this house is mysterious. It's in a row of other modest houses, but behind a fence, in a lot covered with dense and overgrown trees. There's no indication that anyone lives there. The gates are never open. All the times I've driven by, there's never any traffic. I got excited a couple of times for seeing a car in the driveway, but it was only to turn around. The house looks old and fragile, as though it has quietly aged as people forgot about it under the boughs of the trees. Every time I pass, I wander what people live there. I gained no more insight by passing by on foot.
I drove the car over and commenced waiting. I don't have a significant other or family in the area, so I don't have anyone who MUST give me a ride when my car breaks. I brought books and my German homework and set up camp in the Honda dealership lobby. There was a nice supply of people continually hurrying around. It was rather relaxing to be at the center of this whirling arena.
There were two types of car salesmen walking the floor: the new guys and the old guys. The new guys were wearing extremely pale blue-gray oxford shirts with short sleeves. They looked young. They didn't talk much, except to each other. They were instructed on the characteristics of the new model RAV-4, vs. previous models, and also how to tell the trim lines apart. Apparently, they don't sell the Camry EX here in Kansas City, because that's the model that doesn't have air conditioning.
The old guys wore button down shirts in bold colors. They had short haircuts, no facial hair, and moved swiftly with purpose wherever they were headed, even if it was just the automatic coffee machine.
The hours passed, and the mechanic finally came out to tell me that there were four things wrong. Two were related to the heat problem, and two weren't. All told, the repairs will cost approximately $620.
But.
There's a required part that's coming from their warehouse in Ohio. It will arrive the next day (today). I hitch up my backpack and my doubles-as-a-walking-stick umbrella, and start walking home. I have a rough idea how far it is. I mean, it's right over there!
It was a pleasant, overcast day so the temperature was good for walking. Apparently, between the dealership and my home lies a large hill. I estimate at least a 10% grade, and it took a fair amount of effort to hike up. It turns out I didn't REALLY have a good idea how far it was. What looked like a close distance on overhead maps turned out to be about 4.3 miles on actual roads.
It was good exercise, and I'm glad I brought my umbrella because a torrential (but brief) rainstorm occurred about half a mile from my destination. I was the only person using the sidewalks during my entire route. No dog walkers, no joggers, no people taking trash to the curb. Nothing.
The only "on foot" people I saw were the Hispanic work crews. More so than any place I've lived, the lawn and garden crews are Hispanic. The construction crews (but not the supervisors) are Hispanic. The street repair crews are white (go figure), but I didn't see any yesterday.
Stuck to the back of one of the street signs was the remnants of someone's location game. It was a note, slightly yellowed, that read, "Christine, find the next clue where the ducks wear sandals." Based on only this information, I could never have found the next clue. Who knows how long the note has been stuck there. Did Christine ever find the end? What was her reward? Or did she give up, not knowing anything about mallards and footwear, leaving her prospective fiance holding a ring forever?
I passed by the house in Kansas City that I think most about. As a rule, I don't really ponder houses much, but this house is mysterious. It's in a row of other modest houses, but behind a fence, in a lot covered with dense and overgrown trees. There's no indication that anyone lives there. The gates are never open. All the times I've driven by, there's never any traffic. I got excited a couple of times for seeing a car in the driveway, but it was only to turn around. The house looks old and fragile, as though it has quietly aged as people forgot about it under the boughs of the trees. Every time I pass, I wander what people live there. I gained no more insight by passing by on foot.
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