images of broken light - thoughts on the art of sedan maintenance, part iii
The war had begun. I stood face to face with the forces of decay and destruction, armed with only a five-piece tool set from Wal-Mart.
Clearly, I needed reinforcements.
A kind man named Paul posted step-by-step directions with pictures on the internet on how to replace a window regulator (yes, I had learned my terms) in a car the same model as mine. This resource would have helped immensly, had I any power tools or mechanical expertise at all.
So I called Mike. Mike was my roommate for a week in India when we traveled with Sandals Church last fall.
I first met Mike in our India Team training sessions. My anxiety level had already peaked at even the idea of returning to the filthy, disease-ridden motherland, but the added bonus of having to acquaint myself with the ten strangers on my team before we left only further increased my displeasure.
When I arrived at the India Team first training session at the Carters' house, I made myself a nametag as instructed and then sat awkwardly while quietly loathing my teammates because their unfamiliar presence intruded upon my familiar introverted solace. To pour lemon juice on the paper cut, our team leader Dave then required us to participate in an ice breaker in which we learned and shared five things about a teammate.
I picked Mike because he was a dude. The bright green dragon tattoo that enveloped his arm promised at least that the uncomfortable introduction might be followed by an interesting story.
Little did we know that this began a friendship that would become quite meaningful to both of us (and would apparently involve automobile maintenance).
So I called Mike. Mike was my roommate for a week in India when we traveled with Sandals Church last fall.
I first met Mike in our India Team training sessions. My anxiety level had already peaked at even the idea of returning to the filthy, disease-ridden motherland, but the added bonus of having to acquaint myself with the ten strangers on my team before we left only further increased my displeasure.
When I arrived at the India Team first training session at the Carters' house, I made myself a nametag as instructed and then sat awkwardly while quietly loathing my teammates because their unfamiliar presence intruded upon my familiar introverted solace. To pour lemon juice on the paper cut, our team leader Dave then required us to participate in an ice breaker in which we learned and shared five things about a teammate.
I picked Mike because he was a dude. The bright green dragon tattoo that enveloped his arm promised at least that the uncomfortable introduction might be followed by an interesting story.
Little did we know that this began a friendship that would become quite meaningful to both of us (and would apparently involve automobile maintenance).
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