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Blogs by Patrick Sills
A July to Remember 8/1/2005 11:17:49 PM
Most of us have heard of Murphy's Law. It is unscientific by definition, yet many of us have succumbed to it in one form or another. July, 2005 was such a month in which I experienced many of its applications. July is my favorite month of the year. Summer weather is at its peak. The skies are blue with brilliant sunshine. The temperatures are perfect, averaging around eighty-five degrees. There is a feeling of freedom in going without shoes and wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt. I have the luxury of being able to do this 24/7. I'm a stay-at-home dad. I haven't put on a pair of socks since the middle of May. Similarly-dressed women, many of them gorgeous, can be admired from a safe distance just about any place at any time. July is the month I look forward to the other eleven months out of the year. In Wisconsin, June can still be gloomy and cool and consequently, on the other side of the coin, the temperature decline that leads to the return of our relentless seven-month-long winter can begin as early as mid-to-late August, and by September, it is certain. However, July, 2005 will be a time to remember, and moreover, the memories will not be fond ones.
Murphy's Law can roughly be translated as follows: If anything can go wrong, it will. Or: When it rains, it pours. Both of these translations are applicable to the chain of events that I endured in July.
One night I loaded our dishwasher up after supper; around 8:00 PM. I noticed that it was still running well over an hour later, but didn't think much about it. In middle age, I have developed a habit of falling asleep for an hour or so in my recliner chair; generally from around 10:00 to 11:00 PM. After waking up, I noticed that the dishwasher was still running. I shut it off manually, and opened the door. Immense steam came rushing out, and the heat that accompanied it could have cooked a 12-pound turkey in 30 seconds flat. After everything cooled down, I pulled the dishes out. Practically every drinking cup made of plastic had melted into some interesting shapes, rendering them useless. My mechanical skills are roughly equivalent to those of a mentally-challenged gerbil, so I called a repair service. The verdict: it needed a new timer, and the repair would cost as much as a new dishwasher. I've been washing dishes by hand until my wife and I can find time to go to an appliance store.
A few days later, as we were drying clothes, my wife claimed that she smelled something burning. I've smoked for thirty years, which often results in a diminished sense of smell, and therefore didn't know what she was talking about. The next day I certainly did. The dryer suddenly had no heat. The outlet had a wire short out, and the higher voltage portion required to run the heating element was fried. I found an old rope out in the garage, and made a makeshift clothesline by tying one end to our patio deck fence and the other end to my eight-year-old daughter's swing set. We dried our laundry in this manner until a friend came over and replaced the outlet. Remember, I have no do-it-yourself skills. I would have a difficult time pounding a nail straight.
I have two Volkswagens; a 1996 Golf and a classic 1969 Beetle. I love Volkswagens, and in fact am a member of a club. This is another reason I look forward to summer each year; car shows, cruises, and the like. I was set to take a 300-mile trip down to see my father. It was 100 degrees outside. The Golf is my daily driver for obvious reasons. I save the old Beetle for special club outings; that is, normally. The Golf wouldn't start. I messed with it for about a half hour, and realized I had to get going. My wife and daughter were out of town. It was a lost cause. I grabbed my suitcase and put it into the Beetle. With the hot temperature, black vinyl seats, and of course, no air-conditioning, it was going to be a warm ride. Did I mention that it was 100 degrees outside? There are those who think I'm nuts, but I'll take 100 degrees over freezing my ass off in the winter anytime. The Beetle made the trip. The next day my father and I decided to go to Wisconsin Dells to meet up with my wife, daughter, sister, and her partner. We were in East Moline, Illinois, about 250 miles away, give or take. We drove separately because we would be returning to our respective homes when the visit was over. With my dad behind me in his air-conditioned 2002 Buick, I was in front in my 1969 Beetle. It was 103 degrees that day. We got about 40 miles out, and my Beetle lost power, eventually coasting to a dead halt in a constuction zone. A worker approached me and said, "We've got to get this car out of the way before a semi hits you." I concurred. He had to push it with his truck, and in doing so put a nice dent in my bumper, which will deduct points in future shows until I can get it replaced. He apologized for putting a dent in the bumper, but reminded me of the alternative, so I didn't say much. He was right. Next, the worker called a tow truck for me. I was at the mercy of a tow truck driver in rural Illinois to take a 36-year-old Volkswagen to a place that would know how to repair it. Of course by this time, the repair shop was closed for the day. We had no choice. The tow truck driver dropped the car off, and all I could do was call them the next morning to see when and/or if they could repair it. My father drove us back to his house. I called my wife and told her what happened. The next morning, I fully expected to be talking to some guy spitting tobacco into a used Folgers' can telling me something like, "I don't work on them thar furrin' cars. This is Ford & Chevy country." However, much to my amazement, he not only knew old Volkswagens, but had the parts in stock as well. In a few hours my father and I were once again on our way to Wisconsin Dells. We had our visit and returned our separate ways home. I still had the Golf sitting in the driveway, and now I had time to try different things to get it started. I managed to get it started, but it was running miserably, but to avoid another towing charge in less than two days, I hobbled it up to a VW repair shop. I got it back the next day and $90.00 later. It ran great for 24 hours or so, and then started doing the same thing again. I had horrible thoughts running through my mind. The problem was worse. Anybody who owns a "modern" Volkswagen can attest to how expensive they can be to repair. I always think the worst; a trait I inherited from my mother. If I have a headache, I'll think it's a brain tumor. Once again, this time, I was in luck. It was simply a fouled spark plug wire. A new set of wires will set me back $100 or so for this particular car, but that's a lot better than $500-1000 for the numerous other possible causes for all I knew it could have been. It is now August 2nd. July is behind me, and, hopefully when it rains the next time, it will merely sprinkle.
