Author Archives: Ria

So… I walk back into the store. By this time, I have realised that my car battery is gone, kaput, dead, and needs to be replaced. Triple A does have a battery replacement service, but the recorded message about the limited services…
 
With doubled energy, I dial their number. Sorry, the battery replacement service is temporarily unavailable; call back in the evening for the service. And yes, a service truck will come by in two hours and jump start my car. Two hours? Two hours.
 
Outside it is bright and sunny. For a fleeting second, I think of walking home, a distance of 20 minutes. That indeed was a very short-lived thought. What if I lose a toe or two to frost bite? Very possible in the bone chilling, mind numbing cold. And another toe or two in the walk back to the car… definitely not worth it.
 
Have you ever considered how it it would be to spend two hours in the grocery store? After you have just finished your grocery shopping? Neither had I. But, let’s look on the bright side… now I know that every brand of canned fruit – Del Monte, Dole, the store brand… they all contain the same ingredients and preservatives and colourants, in the same proportions. The next time you need some peach slices for a recipe, just grab the best priced can. Not so with pie fillings though… And thanks to the two hours spent wandering through the aisles of that grocery store, I can now confidently pen a scholarly thesis on ‘Price point variations in papier mache food consumption equipment relative to spatial dimensions and considered with brand identities’. In layman’s terms, how the price of paper plates vary according to size and brand… 🙂
 
With frequent staring at the watch, I force time to move on. Triple A calls to inform that the service truck is outside in the parking lot. I walk out and spot the truck right away. It is the same truck and the same man who helped jump start my car in the morning. Was it only this morning?
 
Again, it is a matter of two minutes to get the car started. This time it is straight back home, no driving around to get the battery charged. It is past 2 pm. I haven’t eaten a thing the whole day. All I can do is grab a sandwich – ham and cheese with lots of lettuce, in case you wanted to know – and plonk myself on the couch.
 
My shopping is not yet done, and won’t be, till the car is fixed. Promptly at 5 pm, I’m on the phone with Triple A. Yes, a service truck will be around to replace the defective battery. By 6.30 pm.
 
It is already dark outside at 5 pm. The temperature has started its night time plunge into the depths of negative numbers. By 6 pm, I’m dressed in layers and waiting for the call. Promptly at 6.30, the truck arrives. This time it is a small one and has no problem getting into the garage.
 
The man parks his truck, gets a bunch of tools and a jump cable and walks over to my car. Opens the hood, looks at things, touches a few things. Goes back to his truck, brings more stuff over. Turns, unscrews this and that under the hood. This goes on for 15 minutes. Cold wind is blowing into the garage through the open sides. I move around to keep the shivering to a minimum. After 25 minutes of tinkering, the man declares that Volkswagen cars have special battery installed batteries that can only be detached in a workshop. He offers to tow my car to an auto repair workshop. In a display of supreme self-restraint I mutter politely, No, thank you.
 
While seeing him out and rushing back to my warm home, all I can think amidst the fuming is, at what point in the 25 minutes of tinkering did he realise that my Beetle is a Volkswagen make?
 
My car service shop is just two blocks away. Next day, despite it being a Sunday, it is open at 9 am. And I’m there narrating my saga of woes to Luke, the owner. And true to his life saver persona, he asks two of his assistants to go get my car. In two hours, I get the call to tell me it’s all done. I get there, my beautiful Beetle is waiting for me, all nice and freshly washed. And the engine purrs into life with a single turn of the key.
 
They say all is well that ends well… and I know that things happen, apartments get flooded, car batteries go bad, but why oh why at this particular point in time?
 

~Ria

So where were we? Yeah, the flood that threatened my door step did not materialise. So far, so good.

As per my plans, I was to go and do some shopping – last minute gifts, chocolates, etc – Friday evening. But after a stressful Thursday evening, I did not feel like driving out in the early dark. After all, what is Saturday for? I could comfortably do the shopping in the day time. So that was decided. Maybe, just maybe… the fact that I was in the middle of an interesting book might have had something to do with that decision. 🙂

Saturday dawned nice and sunny, with an expected high of 10 degree fahrenheit, waaay below freezing. 10ish in the morning, I go down to the car park, start the car. Grrrrr…. and nothing. Turn the keys again. GGGrrrrrr…. the engine refuses to turn over. I realise that the continued freezing cold has done a job on the car battery.

What else to do than trudge back up to the apartment and call triple A! As the phone connects, the recorded message warns that services are limited due to adverse weather. Excellent! My car battery chose the perfect day to go on strike! Hoping that jump starting will not be among the services that are chopped, I wait patiently on the line. The lady who takes the call is very polite and informs me that a service truck will be over in two hours. In the relief that the service is available, I did not even think of protesting the two hours. Not that it would have done any good, with almost all traffic slowed down with snow and ice.

As promised, in around two hours, the service truck arrives. I go down and open the garage door. But alas, the truck is too big to get in through the door, though overall it is not a too big truck at all. We go to check the door on the other side of the garage. The man is of the opinion that it is larger than the first one though I cannot see any difference. Finally he squeezes his truck through. Then, the truck cannot reach my car from this side of the garage. I have to go and request one of my neighbours to move his car so that the truck can have a way to get to my car. Done. Mr. W is very gracious and moves his car readily.

It is a matter of two minutes to jump start the car. The man tells me to keep it running for 15 minutes before driving out. Fine. By this time, the cold is seeping onto my fingers even through the heavily insulated gloves. I’m only happy to sit in the car that is warming up by the second.

I let the car warm up for a good 20 minutes and start out, headed for the grocery store first as it is closer. And drive around for a while to give the car battery time to get charged. Reaching the parking lot of the grocery store, I switch off the car, switch it back on. No problem. Switch off and wait two minutes, switch back on. No problem. The car kicks up right away. A weight off my mind, I traipse along to the store.

20 minutes back, I’m back in the car, grocery bags in the trunk. . Grrrrr…. and nothing. Turn the keys again. GGGrrrrrr…. the engine refuses to turn over. Triple A, come and save me… again!

To be continued…

~Ria

It all started in the week before I was scheduled to start on my winter vacation. This was a planned vacation, tickets booked a while back. Still, you know how it is… you plan all the things you need to do before you go, and you have every intention of sticking to those plans… then somehow things happen differently and you are left scrambling at the last minute. What I cannot understand is how this is the case every year, every vacation. But I digress…

So it was the week before my travel. Came back from work Wednesday evening. Entering the apartment, I can already see the flashing lights reflected on the window panes.

Looking out the window (being on the second floor, I do have a good view of the street), I can see two cop cars parked among the small hillocks of snow on the sides of the street. Suddenly I realise… the snow hills on the near side are no longer there. Instead there is a muddy stream meandering towards the rainwater drain at the end of the street. Oh no! Water main break… No wonder, considering the below freezing temperatures we have been consistently having. And it was apparent that the problem was with the main pipe that supplied water to our building.

So the smart aleck that I am, I ran to the kitchen. Put a cooking pot under the tap and started filling it with water. Already the flow of water was slowing down. As I watched, the tap spluttered a few times and the water stopped. I was not worried. Enough drinking water in the house, and of course water will be back the next day.

Next day, went to work as usual. Around 4 pm, as I’m getting ready to leave for home, my phone rings. It is Mr J, our condo president. ‘Ria, where are you? Can you get home right away? The water was turned back on a while back, after the repairs, and there is flooding in your apartment.’

The kitchen tap… I had forgotten to close it last evening! All the way home, all I could think of was, all the things I will have to throw away because of water damage. The bottom rows of my book shelves were sure to go… Gosh, all the heavy classics are on the bottom shelves…

By the time I reached home – Manhattan traffic is so unmindful of your personal emergencies! – three of my friends were waiting to help me with damage control. We rushed up. No water coming out under the door. I gingerly opened the door… expecting to step into squelching water. Nothing. Looked into the bed rooms… no problem there. Moved on to the living room… the floor is dry as a bone. Then to the kitchen… yes, the floor has patches of water puddled here and there. But beyond that, no sign of flooding at all.

What had happened was that the water had seeped under the dish washer and the floor cabinets in the kitchen and gotten to the outside corridor under the wall. And to prevent it getting to the apartment across the corridor, Mr J had the water turned off. What a relief it was, to see all the horror scenarios in my mind come to nought!

Wiping up the remaining water was a matter of minutes. And my friends insisted on celebrating my transition from panic to relief in a short hour by treating me to takeout pizza. 🙂

To be continued…

~Ria