The Work of Many
The bronze colored bell jingled as Dr. Jacob Pruett walked through the doorway into Al’s Auto Shop. It was a small one garage shop that had never seen much business, but just never seemed to not see enough. No body thought it would ever close, and honestly, it probably wouldn’t. Its one garage was made only of white unpainted cement block. The sliding garage door was a distinct white, but had cracked and peeled over years of exposure. The windows were hazy, almost opauge in a strong summer sun and the rubber sealant that bordered the windows was faded and on the verge of coming undone. The only distinguishing feature of the entire structure was a green lamp that was screwed above the door, right in the center. It was made of a long rod that jutted straight out of the cement blocks. A conical shade that didn’t extend downward but an inch or three from where it was attached to the rod. It looked almost like a hat that sat precariously on the light bulb. Seemingly balancing on the metal neck of the bulb. It had been painted the deepest shade of green. The color made one think of a deep forest. A forest who’s history had been lost to the books.
Dr. Pruett walked to the counter of the shop, his suit creasing ever so slightly as he crossed the room, and hit the bell deliberately four or five times. A grayed man in faded Levi’s that were cinched with a leather belt of the man’s own handiwork came in from the door that led from the garage. His red flannel shirt sagged on the pocket side where he kept a pocket protector with various small tools. A white hat sat steadly on his head.
“How’s it goin’ Doctor?” asked the grayed man.
“It was going well enough until that damn automobile broke down again. The engine light came on a couple miles ago, and I had to coast into your car park. I thought you said my car was fixed? It’s in here so much I would have thought you would have it figured out by now.” replied the Doctor.
“I don’t know what to tell ya Doc. I do what I can, and every time you drive away. It’s them new cars thats doin it to ya. They just ain’t reliable. Let’s go on and have a look though.” said the man as he walked from behind the counter. His walk was a methodical step after step. It was as if each of his footsteps had a purpose, a distinct reason for going where it was going, and doing what it was doing. This was the way of the man. Methodical, with a certain vector. The two walked to the long blue car that sat upon the dirt parking lot. The sun shined off the car’s cloak of luxury.
“Would ya mind starting the car for me?” asked the man as he rested his fingertips on the hood of the car.
“Well, I suppose. Can’t you just plug something up to tell what’s wrong with it?” asked the man in return.
“Naw. Ain’t got one of those machines. I just need to hear it.” said the man. Doctor Pruett stepped into his car and ignited the engine. As the key turned a smattering of lights blinked on the dashboard, the car’s climate control flicked on fighting the temperature down to a pleasant 68oF. A talk show host’s voice poured out of the car’s speakers discussing the distinct benefits of a new operating system that would revolutionize every aspect of modern culture. The car ran a start up diagnostic scan resulting in a “Check engine” message displayed on the dashboard screen. The doctor looked through the windshield and saw the swells of wind pass against the man. The man leaned his head towards the car and surveyed the sounds of the engine, picking up on anything that was out of line.
“Well, what is the problem?” asked the Doctor.
“Ain’t nothin much. These new cars got a whole lot of bells and whistles, and you’re engine just can’t keep up. You keep throwin new stuff into a car and expecting them to run the same, but it’s can’t help but break down. I’ll be able to fix it, but don’t expect to never see me again” said the man.
“I’ll just take it to another shop then. They will know how to make it the repair permanent.” said the Doctor.
“You could try, but if I know anything at all, they’ll just throw something more into the car. Some kind of chip or something.” said the man as he put his hands in his pockets, ”It’s in you’re engine. That’s what makes things work. Just because engines have been around for a while doesn’t mean they were built for forever. You’ve gotta work with it if you want it to work at all. You can’t put more music on a broken record.” said the man.
“Well alright then. I wouldn’t want to pay for towing anyways.” replied the man.
“Won’t take but a bit. You can wait inside if you like. There’s a pot of coffee on the table.” said the man. Dr. Pruett walked inside and waited for the man to fix his car.
Before long, the man was underneath the car adjusting different aspects of the car to make the engine run. It was a rough job. There wasn’t much room to work. All sorts of systems and additions had been crammed into the engine compartment which made the essential parts hard to get too. The sun was setting, and the light from the fixture above the garage was the only light to go by. Eventually, the engine ran. The man moved from underneath the car shaking of the dust with his greased hands. He walked back inside and moved behind the counter. The doctor removed the speakers from his ear, the talk show host’s voice continuing ever on.
“You’re ready to go.” said the man. The doctor managed to pay the man and moved to go to his car. The bronze bell jingled once more as he walked out of the garage.
“I’ll be seein ya.” said the man as he lifted his hand in a wave. The doctor paused in the doorway.
“Hopefully I won’t.” replied the Doctor and he stepped out of the door.
The man looked on as his work was ignited to run the speakers in the car.
“I suppose you’re right Doc.” He said as he turned, “Hopefully not.” The car pulled out of the dirt parking lot leaving a cloud of dust sparkling in the the rays from the light bulb as the car’s cloak billowed in the wind.
