Between November 2002 and January 2003, the wheelchair lift on my mooncruiser was in the shop at least 10 times, worked on two times by some shady character with a demeanor of the protagonist of Vachs’ Shella, stared at by mall rent-a-cops, almost mangled by undocumented Mexicans, driven to Clearwater by a couple of really nice senior citizen friends, repaired by the apartment maintenance dude, given a few rides on the AAA flatbed tow and mysteriously fixed by my old Tampa roommates, Eric and Braheem, dozens of times.
A lot of people have putzed around with the lift.
With all the hiccups and hacks, it’s amazing that I’ve retained my sanity. Or maybe I never had it to lose. Whatever it is, I’ve been thoroughly inoculated from van disasters. Money is the only issue that gets a rise out of me and, even then, it’s mild. Here’s a tip: DO NOT EVER, EVER, EVER GET MECHANICAL OR ELECTRICAL SERVICE FROM FIRESTONE. Repairing my lift required replacing the electrical system. Replacing the electrical system required Firestone to admit that they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing and should have refused service on those grounds.
A hole in the wall electrical shop in Tampa finally got things right the day after the Superbowl. It’s been quiet since I replaced the electrical system in January. Electrical problems are 90% of automotive bullshit.
Less than a month ago, it was a sunny day, a great drive to the mom’s and I discovered I was locked in. The doors opened but the lift refused to respond. Something jammed in an ever so slight way. Enough to upset my f’n Nazi logic board. If things aren’t in an absolutely precise position, the whole thing stops. In this case, the lift didn’t know the doors were open so the lift didn’t move. The doors thought the lift was down so the doors didn’t move.
Three days and $140 to fix. I’ve been completely paranoid about making sure that I’m by-the-book about opening and closing my lift.
Today was a cloudy day, a great drive to the mom’s, no problems getting out. After lunch, removing a disgusting amount of spyware, installing security updates, optimizing the system and switching my mom to the Mozilla web browser, it was time to leave. I go to open the doors. They won’t open. Within a few seconds, though, they bulge. The lift was trying to push the doors open. A total fucking nightmare. I was locked *out* of my van.
It was 4:55. I called the local repair shop. Amazingly, they answered the phone. Spoke to the dude that handled my calls last month. I was switched to a tech. No luck. Just so happened that there was nothing written in my record. Just “$140.” They remember my van but nobody remembered what the cause was or what they did to fix it. I suspect a thorough investigation never took place. They simply put the parts where they were supposed to be for the Nazi logic board and never checked for wear & tear or electrical & mechanical problems.
I calmly explained why I can’t pay rent on my life. It must be thoroughly fixed. The dude on the other end was very wise and defused a ticking bomb for the moment. Apparently, he understands my position and I have nothing to worry about if I bring it in the morning.
Let’s hope. This nonsense has to end.
It all comes down to karma. When something bad happens, it comes from bad karma but if you accept it then it cannot generate more bad karma. If you discipline yourself into generating good karma from following the Middle Path, then the good incidents increase. It’s not a scientific statement but it is certainly observable and can be replicated by those that choose the Buddhist worldview.
I can say with confidence that the bad karma is running on near empty. I’m not sure who deserves the proper citation for my next statement but it goes like this: Faith is like a candle. Knowledge is like the sun.
The sun isn’t out to help you all the time. That candle is a huge help in the darkness. If this lift problem is my biggest problem at the moment and it’s not going to cost me any money then life is pretty good.
