Busy

Things have just been so busy lately, that I have not had much time for leisurely writing. I foolishly thought my workload would be reduced once I sold “The Beast,” but it hasn’t been so. I’ve just been bogged down with the new job, school, and all of the little home things that “spring” up with the change in seasons…and we haven’t even gotten into picking out the new furniture and paint colors yet! Daylight Savings Time isn’t all it’s cracked-up to be.

Oh well, there are certainly much worse problems to be had than lack of time. Now, I just need to spend the next couple of months deciding on a graduate program, and sticking with my choice!

Rain

Ah, the rain. It’s one of the most powerful weapons in nature’s arsenal. It can form rivers, sustain life, or melt away monuments carved in stone. For as innocent as it may seem to some; it can be just as disastrous to others.

Unfortunately, it’s my duty to report upon these negative effects of our atmospheric friend. The ongoing and, at times, torrential rains our area has seen have wrecked havoc on my father’s fish pond.

To you this may seem insignificant, but then you don’t understand the love and physical toil this lone man has invested in this small piece of heaven on earth; this psycho-physiological oasis. You can never hope to understand…at least not until you look upon your own legacy, or lack thereof, here on Earth and realize how fragile it really is, or could be.
Remember, pray, or meditate for this man who is doing all he can to save the lives of fishes and his own little piece of Nirvana; for whatever you have done, or will do, this man is you and I

Communication Breakdown

I find it amazing that in this age of unsurpassed communications growth and technological innovation, some business can’t keep their record keeping straight. The worst part is, I’m referring to a company that provides a very simple service, not one that has a lot of complex data to track.

The company I’m referring to is one of those self-storage places here in Chester County. Let’s face it, all they do is rent you a little space for your stuff, and send you a bill. Heck, with all the waivers you have to sign, they don’t even take ANY fiscal responsibility for your stuff once it’s there! Sounds like it should be fairly straight forward and easy to run to me.

Unfortunately, I had to use the services of one of these companies to store The Albatross until I got it sold. Even more unfortunate; I have to keep it temporarily stored there until the buyer is able to come down and pick it up later this month.

Back in January, I signed up for the service there. I remember the young lady struggling to get all my information logged into her computer system. She said they would send me the bill in the mail once a month. This sounded pretty straight forward and simple to me at the time, but as you may have already guessed, it didn’t turn out that way.

I never realized that I had not received the bill yet for February. I’m a very busy guy, and things like that do tend to “slip my system”. Even though the storage company could not remember my address to get my bill to me, they did remember it to send me two certified letters with rather strong language (i.e. “We are DEMANDING that you pay in full the amounts owed to us”) and extra fees attached.

Now I have sat for over an hour waiting for a return phone call. The legacy of the Albatross continues to unfold.

Flight of the Albatross

Life can be bittersweet. Even our successes can be tarnished by guilt, sadness, remorse, or desire. This past Friday was one of those days for me.

After a difficult day at work, I headed home knowing that I was scheduled to meet another customer who wanted to poke and prod my beloved Chevelle, and then let me know why it wasn’t worth much, and why I should sell it to them at a ridiculously low price, if at all.

I suppose there is no way of putting a true price on something you’re passionate about. I certainly wouldn’t take half as much guff from my Toyota as I did the Chevelle; that tiny marvel of Japanese/American engineering would be in the bone yard with all of the other forgotten mechanical children of man.

I had to wonder if this guy would even show up at the appointed time, as I’ve had a run of no-shows and late-shows the past few weeks; all of them conspiring to waste my time and make selling my car a full-time job. As regular readers will note, this has been going on since August.

To my surprise, the customer (who I’ll call “BG”) was waiting for me a half hour before our appointed time. Retired or not, this was very impressive for someone who lived over five hours away, and was racing bad weather the whole trip. Even more interesting was the fact that he was just recovering from a total replacement of his left knee; which is NOT conducive to driving a muscle car with a heavy mechanical clutch. He even had to employ the services of a friend to make the long drive down, even though his daily-driver was equipped with an automatic.

After a quick meet and greet, we trekked over to the storage place to see the car. The clouds were increasing, the temperature dropping, and a bitter wind was rising from the southwest. There’s nothing like the weather to add a sense of foreboding to an occasion.

After removing the cover, the gentlemen looked over the car and seemed appreciative. They both made some poor attempts at driving The Beast around the expansive lot, but only one of them had a bum knee to blame! BG’s friend even took the car for a drive down the roadways of East Whiteland, and gave his seal of approval, in light of a “touchy clutch”.

Then it was go time; time to get down to serious business. I could see the strain of the decision plainly written on BG’s face, as he kept trying to get me to budge on the price. I figured I would be going home without a deal as he hobbled into his car, out of the cold, to review my folder of automotive receipts. I lost track of time, but I know I was able to get the Chevelle covered back up by myself in the wind, and even crack open my Economics text book. Painful.

BG finally made a move to extricate himself from the passenger seat of his car. That’s when I saw him going for his cash. After months of aborted attempts, a deal was struck. The Beast was going to a new home in southern NY State.

After fighting our way through Frazer traffic, we were able to successfully transfer the title. The Albatross no longer hangs around my neck; it is flying to a new roost where it will, hopefully, get the chance to fly with someone who is able to dedicate the time to it that the bird deserves. Then it might be able to soar like an eagle again.

I’m sad to see it go, but at the same time, it has lifted a great burden off my shoulders. So concludes the muscle car era of my life…for now.