Just Call Me MacGyver

Doncha hate it when you've gotten off the freeway, you're halfway home from work, and something's RATTLING around in your engine? Yep, me too.

Oh, and doncha hate it when you've left your cell phone at home on the charger THE ONE TIME you really need it? Yep, me too.

So......I pull into a grocery store parking lot, making sure to choose a well-lit spot. My first instinct is to head for a public phone, but I'm wondering if maybe they've gone the way of the 39 cent stamp, so I re-think, and go back to the car.

Could be some strange foreign object's taken up residence in the engine. Could be it just needs a well-placed nudge to dislodge it.

I start up the engine, pop the hood, and peer inside.

Part of the fan belt is flapping round and round. Well, that can't be good, I think to myself.

I shut the engine back off, peer under the hood again, and lift up the strip of rubber for proper examination. It's about 1/8" wide and two feet long, and I try tearing it off.

The strip lengthens by about a foot.

At this point, I sense a male presence passing by, and I probably shoot some helpless female pheramones in his direction, because he stops and asks if there's a problem. I explain and ask his opinion of my plan to buy scissors to cut off the strip. He apologizes for not knowing anything about cars, but says he has a tool we can use. (Sidenote: how sweet is that? The guy offers assistance with something he knows nothing about? Is this is pick-up, then?) Anyway, he even has a tiny flashlight and performs the surgery on my behalf.

He then wishes me luck and we part. (So, no. I guess not a pick-up.)

I crawl home with one eye on the temperature gauge and one on the road.

Tomorrow, when I coax the poor thing to the office, at least I'll have my cell phone to call AAA should disaster strike.