THE ECONOMY
By Duncan
I hope this doesn’t sound like a bitch session, maybe just a reality check.
I haven't left the house in the last 25 days of January. My previous road trip, in early January, was just before a huge snowstorm hit Indiana. I drove to the northwest corner of Indiana and had lunch with my Personal and Very Close Freind, Jack Maynard.
I was informed by knowledgeable meteorologists, likely with advanced degrees in their chosen field. They advised me that I had a brief window of opportunity to get home on dry pavement before the highways became snow-covered and hazardous with 5-8 inches of snow. Do I believe them?
Over the years, I've realized that 'Mean Yellow' was not built for winter’s slick, snowy roads. With its wide-back tires, no weight over the rear wheels, and a five-speed manual transmission, I knew I would be in trouble if I didn't make it home before the snow started to fall.
The thought of ending up in a ditch, upside down, was daunting—perhaps a bit dramatic, but it highlighted the urgency. I could be “In Heap Big Trouble” if I didn’t get home before the snow. I needed to seize that window of opportunity.
I arrived home just as the heavy snow began to fall, just as the meteorologists had predicted. I was home and safe. I parked ‘Mean Yellow’ in the garage and knew I would not be behind the wheel for a while. This storm would dump a lot of snow and then turn bitter cold.
How cold was it? Let me put it this way: The pipes in my bathroom shower froze. Yes, “zero degrees” was the only word used by those meteorologists standing in front of their half-million-dollar electronic backgrounds. Pointing to the blue part of the map, I knew it would be bitter cold for a long time.
I know what you’re thinking: "You’ll need a plumber, Geronimo."
I can already see you adding up the costs for the plumber to stop the leak and fix the pipes, and Marco, my bathroom tile guy, to replace the destroyed shower wall. And don’t forget to clean up the water on the floors.
Well, so far, I haven’t had a problem. (That I know about.) When I replaced the tub and that slimy, nasty ninety-nine-cent plastic shower curtain that clung to my leg. I asked Marco to put the shower controls on the opposite wall of the showerhead.
I was a guest in a multi-million dollar home in Florida, and they had that feature in their home shower. That way, my arm would not get wet when I turned on the shower. I had my tub removed and sliding glass panels installed. I had Marco retile the entire shower enclosure and “Hey, I’m living like I’m somebody.”
I was running low on provisions; I knew it was time to hit the streets and visit Aldi. I was out of potato chips and wondered how many times I could afford to tip the pizza delivery guy—he knew my name, rank, and serial number. I thought I could use the pizza delivery guy as a tax deduction as a dependant on my income tax forms.
I was also low on eggs, and of course, I love my two-over-easy, with hash browns, bacon, and an English muffin. I didn’t want to, but I had to go to the grocery store.
I pushed the button on the wall, and the garage door lifted into the air. I opened the door to “Mean Yellow,” squeezed my body into the tight space, pushed in the clutch, wiggled the gear shift to ensure I was in neutral, inserted the key into the ignition, and turned the key.
Click … click … click … click …
Tick … tick … tick … tick …
All men know that sound at one time or another in their life. It’s a sound we men hate to hear. Almost as bad as, “Not tonight, is that all you think about?”
Most of us know the “The Battery is Dead” sound. Then, the next thing we worry about is whether this is a battery or an alternator problem. A man prays for it to be a battery problem. It’s less expensive than replacing an alternator. What to do now?
I have a battery charger on the shelf, but I had to put in a lot of effort to get it down because "Mean Yellow" was blocking almost everything I needed. I plugged in the battery charger and can only wait for it to do its job.
I went back in the house and began a Google search.
“Google, how long does a car battery last?”
“Three to five years. Depending on the climate.”
I began to ask myself, When was the last time I had the battery replaced?
It was five years ago.
Oh dear, this is beginning to sound like a battery problem. I began a search on Google for battery replacement businesses. It’s Sunday, and the first two places I called were closed. A person at “Firestone Tire Store” answered the phone.
“Could you tell me what a battery replacement would cost?”
“Make and model of the car?”
“2007, Pontiac, Solstice, GXP.”
There was a very long pause. “$300.00.”
I don’t know what I expected regarding someone replacing a battery, but I thought $300.00 sounded high. What was I thinking would be a fair price? I’m not sure what I wanted to hear, but I thought it might be in the $200.00 price range. It just sounded high to me.
The woman on the phone was a sales professional. A common sales technique goes like this: You state the price for your product and then remain silent. The first person who breaks the silence loses the negotiation.
As the phone call fell silent, I had a quick internal dialogue with myself. The temperature was in the teens; it was cold outside. Yes, I replaced the battery five years ago, which was quite a hassle. I had to remove the front passenger fender to get to the battery.
Five years ago, it was a warm, sunny day. Now, it was cold, and I had the cold to consider: Did I really want to replace the battery myself? Ultimately, I decided I didn’t want to deal with it and chose to bite the bullet on inflation and let them handle the problem.
“What is the next step? Do I come in, or need to make an appointment?”
“You need to make an appointment. Do you want that appointment today or tomorrow? I have an 11:00 AM open tomorrow. What is your name?”
Again, I had to smile; I was dealing with a good salesperson. That, my friends, is called the “Assumed Close.”
Yes, she was good, but she didn’t realize that ‘Sunday is football’ and that the playoffs were on television today. (Eagles/Washington and Chiefs/Bills.) I wanted to watch football more than I wanted to be in a cold garage trying to figure out how to get the front fender off ‘Mean Yellow.’ I made the appointment. Yes, it seemed steep that a battery replacement could cost $300.00. But goodness, everything seems to cost more nowadays.
The next morning, I went to the garage and attempted to start ‘Mean Yellow’ again. I held my breath; the engine turned and began to run. I put the mighty ‘yellow’ in gear and carefully went to the Firestone Tire Store for my 11:00 AM appointment.
I have a road trip scheduled this week. I plan on leaving on Thursday and heading for the warm and balmy breezes of Cape Coral, North Fort Myers, Sebring, Tampa, and Ocala. I thought about what would have happened if the battery had conked out on me as I tracked my way to Florida.
Let’s see, not only would I have had to have a tow truck charge and would be at the mercy of an unknown garage, but sitting stranded along the highway as cars travel by at eighty miles an hour made me shiver. Knowing about the battery problem is better before I start a 1200-mile trip to Southwest Florida rather than being stopped because of it on the way down.
I dropped the car off at Firestone. I was told it would take about an hour. I noticed a restaurant across the street. I told the guys at the desk to call me when the car is ready.
I was seated in a near-empty restaurant. I have been here before. I remember this place being a hell of a lot busier than this. Is something wrong with this place? I ordered my standard two over easy: bacon, hashbrowns, English muffin, and coffee.
My waiter, Josh, in his twenties, was wearing a baseball cap and seemed knowledgeable. As he walked by my booth, I caught his attention.
“Josh, tell me why this place is empty. Is this the normal crowd for a Monday?”
He was quick to tell me the weekends are normally slammed. He told me that all restaurants are slow right after the holidays in the restaurant business. “We won’t see a pick-up in business until early March.”
One can only guess, and this is a guess on my part, perhaps all of that spending at Christmas and that ‘Dom Perigon Champagne’ on New Year's night makes us as a nation pull back on the reins and slow down our spending in January and February. Are we that predictable?
Josh left that little white piece of paper upside down on the table. I turned it over: $13.99 for the eggs and $3.00 for the coffee. That comes close to $20.00 for breakfast. And I have given a tip of 20%. This new battery thing is starting to get expensive.
Of course, I don’t live in New York City, where my friend, David Patrick Columbia, lives and writes The New York Social Diary. David eats (off and on) at Michael’s on 55th Street. Looking at their menu online, eggs, bacon, potatoes, and coffee will set you back $44.00. Not including a tip of 20%. I envy my friend, Mr. Columbia, living very large.
I also want to bring to your attention a small restaurant I discovered in Lafayette, Indiana, called “The Country Cafe.” I ate breakfast there on my way to Highland, Indiana, for lunch—again, two over, bacon, hashbrowns, English muffin, and coffee, $8.87. A two-dollar tip brought my total to $10.87. Now, why do I spend so much time talking about money?
I just find it interesting that “We pay for our thrills.”
I paid Firestone the bill for the battery and was told by the guy behind the counter that they had an extraordinary amount of business during the cold with dead batteries. I was only one of the many dead battery stories in the “Naked City.”
As I walked through the Aldi aisles, I realized that the prices are among the most reasonable in Fishers. (Please don't refer to them as "cheap.") When I reached the eggs section, I remember paying ninety-nine cents ($0.99) for a dozen eggs years ago. I approached the refrigerated section, and the current price of eggs was on the door.
The sign on the cooler door said, “Due to recent market conditions, egg prices have increased.” I must admit I was unaware of the “Market Conditions” until I got home and checked the news feeds on my computer.
WISH-TV, Indianapolis: A farm in southern Indiana, Jackson County, had to kill two point eight (2.8) million hens because of the bird flu. And KETK, Tyler, Texas, reports the killing of 100,000 ducks on Long Island, New York. The various websites and news organizations show ‘possible evidence’ that wild ducks are carrying the disease. But do your own research if you need to know more.
Okay, I don’t know if I should call this story “THE ECONOMY or “OBSERVATIONS.”
I plan on being in Florida at the end of this week. I have the opportunity to get out of the Indiana cold weather and enjoy my friends in Florida. I could be gone for a couple of weeks.
(If I’m lucky.)
