I have little to no aptitude for mechanical pursuits or anything that
requires being handy, so usually when I have a mishap of the flat
tire/clogged toilet/kitchen fire persuasion I do the following:
- See if the problem fixes itself (This has a success rate of .000001%)
- Google the problem if possible and see if there is a simple remedy (Moderately reliable method)
- Call my mom, dad, or brother (Also moderately reliable)
- If 1-3 fail, call an expert (This is reliably expensive)
However, I can also recall exactly two times in my life where
help has come so swiftly and automatically that I didn't have to go
through any of the steps on my list. The first was in 1999 when I was
traveling around suburban Ohio in a rental Oldsmobile Alero and it got
a flat tire. (I was in suburban Ohio because my younger sister was
playing in a basketball tournament there, and instead of watching her
team's fifth basketball game that weekend, one of the other big sisters
and I decided to take her dad's rental car and find a mall or Burger
King or something in which to entertain ourselves. Unfortunately, what
we "found" was a nail in the middle of the road.)
Well, neither of our 16-year-old asses knew how to change a
flat tire, and this was 1999, so we didn't have cell phones to call
for help, either. However, it turns out we didn't have to worry about
any of that, because within 20 seconds of pulling the car over,
a minivan stopped and the World's Most Wholesome Family Ever poured
out. There were eight of them, all with names like Caleb and Elizabeth
Anne. They were on their way home from church, and they were like a
cross between the Partridge Family and Triple A. I watched in awe as
the younger boys stood in assembly line formation and passed tools
along to the older sons, who skillfully changed our tire in a matter of
minutes while the younger girls sang us a song to pass the time. No joke. It was the most surreal thing ever.
The
second time was this weekend, when I decided to rake my lawn. In order to perform this task I had only my grandma's
teeny old rake, which would have been able to successfully clear our
entire lawn in approximately seven hours. Fortunately, I had just set the
rake into the first section of leaves when my across-the-street
neighbor came out of his house with a leaf blower and extension cord
and offered to do my entire lawn for me.
I put up the teensiest show of resistance ("No, I can't let
you do that! That's so much work . . . OK, you really want to? Go
ahead.") and then sat back and watched my neighbor cheerfully and
efficiently cleared my lawn. He wouldn't even let me pay him or
anything. It was awesome.
Unfortunately, it seems like the natural conclusion to this post is that having things done for you is awesome, and life is best when we are not challenged. That wasn't exactly where I was trying to go with this, but it appears my experience with free leaflowing has made me too spoiled and lazy to care.