“Un Paseo..I Had to Walk Home!” by Melinda Mitchell
My forty eight hour odyssey began when “Betsey”, my ’98 Chevvy was chugging along State Street, a twenty minute ride from the Loop to the South Side. The car needed a good cleaning before the weekend and, I knew of a bargain price gas station that still gave service in spite of hard times and new owners that looked to me like characters from the “Walking Dead”.
Pat, a girlfriend with a new (red) car, had recommended a new station located closer to where I live; yet, that sunny day I’d opted to the familiar one just once more.
To Save – Super Save, maybe.
Besides, driving along the leafy green corridor around IIT was like a leisurely cruise. To my destination, near a big boulevard.
I arrived relaxed, parked the (little) beige Cavalier next to the side fence by the Car Wash lane, survived the claustrophobia in the cluttered pay station, and…the so-called “Deluxe” wash.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Staying inside the vehicle while it rocks and rolls through the spraying waters was the new policy. Perhaps there was not a good space for the driver to stand inside. I wanted to wait outside where I could watch the car roll out smoothly, to check it, before having it dried off. Then, I might have noticed the one tire going down – losing air.
A miscellaneous worker started the wiping down, when a man across the street began yelling, “That lady has a flat! … A flat tire!” Yes, it was going fast, due to a broken valve stem which Mr. Ilaneous offered to fix – temporarily – obviously hoping for a tip.
At that point I had seven (single) dollars and a credit card I wouldn’t use in that setting, even though there was an auto shop in the premises.
After “Mr. Man in a Brown Shirt” capped the valve, he advised me I might not get far – the cap might not hold. I tipped him lightly and he disappeared quickly. I left anxious and frustrated.
A risky decision to start north toward home, but putting trust in Betsy’s tires to get me there (home) where it could rest overnight. Then get it to a nearby auto shop.
Around 23rd and State the right rear tire began to rest itself! Almost deflated (again) by the escaping air. I had to stop!
The second breakdown proved to be a blessing in disguise. Fortunately, 23rd Street led to a Park District Field House, with a very pleasant attendant named Leslie, who allowed me to use her cell phone to call Triple A. She insisted on driving me to my parked car saying, “I‘d hope someone would help my eighty year old mother if she were in this situation…” “Thanks so much. She raised you right,” I said. We nodded in agreement as she left. The service guy came, tried the same temporary technique to help, but the air went out quickly. I decided to leave it until morning, the call for a towing (service).
Clutching my senior citizen reduced fare bus card and one dollar with dime, I walked toward the nearest #29 bus stop on State. It was a short stroll.
While waiting, I spotted a big colorful sign with big bold letters, “Valencia”… The Tapas restaurant. Still at the top of my to-do-lunch list! Without hesitation I advanced step by weary step toward the commercial Taste of Spain. At the entrance I saw the maitre’d!
“Do you take Visa Debit,” I inquired.
“I’Clara! (claro que si’)”
“Buena. (ique Bueno)”
So, the hungry adventurer had been trekking toward Spain – perhaps, all along – eldestino?
Inside I was surrounded by white walls enlivened by murals modeled by the best of miro’
I sand into a coveted booth eyeing the little plates on the pristine table cloth, soon table savoring tapas, including the sweetest fresh crabmeat to be found inland (with a bit of Sangria) !Esquisito! If sort of felt at home! Temporarily!
In time I’d walk to the bus and summon the chauffer of the #29 to follow the route to – connect with the #20 which would let me off right across the street from home – a short walk!
The next morning the CTA that brought me home took me back to the spot where the AAA tow truck driver was waiting beside “Betsy”.
“There you are,” he bellowed. Then he reported my late arrival on his cell phone, describing me in Spanish as “una viejocita”.
Amused, I teased the big jovial (guy) man (with a diamond in his ear) with “muchisimas gracia, chico!”. Mr Jovial was a family guy who confessed he used to tow for the city. (Oh!). “Not muy popular, then.” The truck ride to Firestone was fun. Once parked, then I knew my little two door (Chevvy) with the “Obama for Senate” bumper sticker was in good company.
When I went to pick it up the next afternoon, the smell of hot coffee greeted me in the (neat) office waiting room, where the Olympics diving meet was showing on a big screen tv. Another bonus? Well, time to check the car and the bill – (So?) Not a budget buster, after all! Ole. A blessing!
The car was ready – revved up to go attain. And, so was I…
Beth's Class 