the bravery of men.

One of my roommates car broke down. So the men in the house helped him push the car up the icy driveway and into the garage so it could be worked on. That is all of the men, save the boy who lives in the closet. (not the metaphorical closet, but the actual closet in the house which he rents for $100 a month.)

Now, I know absolutely nothing about cars. Well, I am not a complete idiot, but fairly close. I can jump start, and change tires, and I know about electricity. I would never consider myself knowledgeable about vehicles, and I would sooner repair my own car as I would rewire a microwave. In both cases I fear more danger of wounding myself or others than I fear any slight on the pride of the manly Mr. Fix-it that I am. So I helped the boys push the car in place then went inside, mentioning that I would help again if unskilled labor was required.

Two hours later I returned to see how things were progressing, and discovered that unskilled labor was the only labor to be had. My knowledge of cars was by no means below par. With a beer in hand, the repairs were conducted by hooking up jumper cables to an already running car, and looking to see where it would make the most smoke. To make it stop smoking, one only needed to hit it a few times (whatever it was) with a monkey wrench to see if it helped. If it didn’t, then the crow bar was used to pry something. More smoke, or sparks meant to stop what you were doing, and pull on or tighten wires.

By the end of the night the carbon monoxide in the garage was a level suggesting departure. It was perfect timing because now the car wouldn’t smoke or spark. It just wouldn’t start. So we decided it was the battery, then went inside.