So I packed up the car and gigantic decrepit dog and headed for Arkansas. The VW golf could only carry about 1/3 of my stuff, and minute by minute I agonized over the various small trinkets and knick-knacks forced behind by lack of space. But things are things, and in general I attribute more hatred than fondness for them.
As I rolled into town it became clear that tasks would be of the difficult variety. I scoured the city for dog-friendly sleazebag motels, and finally landed at the Relax For Less Inn, a grizzly joint in the old part of town known for it's frequent shut-downs by the Law. As Father Fate would have it, the car died and wouldn't start again right as I pulled in front of my motel room, like a distance runner collapsing at the finish line. After 1500 or so miles, it was better than somewhere on the road, but a brow-furrowing moment nonetheless.
I did all I could, but couldn't fix the problem. This was a bit nerve-worthy. I just barely had enough for the first month's rent on a place, but a trip to the mechanic would wipe me flat. With all my worldly objects in the car, I couldn't exactly leave it either. So I went and talked to Surangan, the motel owner, and asked if he knew of any auto repair shops.
"Oh, no no, my man is much better. I will send him as soon as he's done caulking 6. He's much better. Monkey can fix anything."
Monkey?
A while latter Monkey came ambling over. He grew up poorer than dirt in Russelville and worked as a maintenance man at the Relax. He's lived with two babies and his wife in the motel for the past 8 months. Monkey riffled into action, fidgeting with wiring and gadgets as two friends cheered him on, "Ain't you fixed 'er yet, Monkey?!"
Monkey was sure it was the ignition switch, but I had a spare and it didn't work. It appeared to be some kind of wierd obsure VW issue. Suddenly he jerked up and scampered to the maintance room, returning with a lightswitch and long bit of wire. With his knife and wistful tact, he attached the switch to my dash and ran the wire to my battery and starter. Within a matter of minutes, he'd Mcgiver'ed a way to start my car by bypassing the switch. I would now need to turn my ignition and quickly flash the lightswitch when I needed to start the car. Works like a charm.
"Wow, thanks," I said. "Uh... do I owe you anything?"
"Ahh, nawwwwww," he says.
"Are you sure?"
"Well... I could use a smoke," he says while making a pinching motion to his lips in a whilly eyed fashion.
"Oh, sure," I say. "Maybe in a little bit."
Soon I would be standing in a circle of motel residents exchanging good vibes and cloudy vapors. We played frisbee in the lot, and a fat woman talked to Monkey's wife about Thanksgiving plans.
"Do you like sweet potatoes, stuffing?" Questioned the huge blissed out mother of two. Monkey chimed in, "Man, I grew up poooorrrr. We just kinda slopped up whatever could heat."
We flung the frisbee around some more under the hum of bronze light reflected on patchy pavement. It was a balmy Autumn evening, surrounded by stars and National Park. I had made it to the South.
Topics on Arkansas, Part 1
Daniel James 2008
As I rolled into town it became clear that tasks would be of the difficult variety. I scoured the city for dog-friendly sleazebag motels, and finally landed at the Relax For Less Inn, a grizzly joint in the old part of town known for it's frequent shut-downs by the Law. As Father Fate would have it, the car died and wouldn't start again right as I pulled in front of my motel room, like a distance runner collapsing at the finish line. After 1500 or so miles, it was better than somewhere on the road, but a brow-furrowing moment nonetheless.
I did all I could, but couldn't fix the problem. This was a bit nerve-worthy. I just barely had enough for the first month's rent on a place, but a trip to the mechanic would wipe me flat. With all my worldly objects in the car, I couldn't exactly leave it either. So I went and talked to Surangan, the motel owner, and asked if he knew of any auto repair shops.
"Oh, no no, my man is much better. I will send him as soon as he's done caulking 6. He's much better. Monkey can fix anything."
Monkey?
A while latter Monkey came ambling over. He grew up poorer than dirt in Russelville and worked as a maintenance man at the Relax. He's lived with two babies and his wife in the motel for the past 8 months. Monkey riffled into action, fidgeting with wiring and gadgets as two friends cheered him on, "Ain't you fixed 'er yet, Monkey?!"
Monkey was sure it was the ignition switch, but I had a spare and it didn't work. It appeared to be some kind of wierd obsure VW issue. Suddenly he jerked up and scampered to the maintance room, returning with a lightswitch and long bit of wire. With his knife and wistful tact, he attached the switch to my dash and ran the wire to my battery and starter. Within a matter of minutes, he'd Mcgiver'ed a way to start my car by bypassing the switch. I would now need to turn my ignition and quickly flash the lightswitch when I needed to start the car. Works like a charm.
"Wow, thanks," I said. "Uh... do I owe you anything?"
"Ahh, nawwwwww," he says.
"Are you sure?"
"Well... I could use a smoke," he says while making a pinching motion to his lips in a whilly eyed fashion.
"Oh, sure," I say. "Maybe in a little bit."
Soon I would be standing in a circle of motel residents exchanging good vibes and cloudy vapors. We played frisbee in the lot, and a fat woman talked to Monkey's wife about Thanksgiving plans.
"Do you like sweet potatoes, stuffing?" Questioned the huge blissed out mother of two. Monkey chimed in, "Man, I grew up poooorrrr. We just kinda slopped up whatever could heat."
We flung the frisbee around some more under the hum of bronze light reflected on patchy pavement. It was a balmy Autumn evening, surrounded by stars and National Park. I had made it to the South.
Topics on Arkansas, Part 1
Daniel James 2008
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