Poor Simple B@$#@&d

One beautiful spring day many years ago, I was driving on the NYS Thruway. I was a Toll Supervisor on the road, driving their car with their radio. Not quite a police radio, but the same sort of effect. I came across a Mercedes broken down by the side of the road and a driver with a completely befuddled look on his face. I radioed in to the dispatcher that roadside assistance was needed. And since I wasn't in a big hurry to get to my next stop, I stayed and chatted with him for a little while as he waited for the tow truck.

Turned out he had just recently relocated from Manhattan to New Jersey. He had met and married a lovely divorced lady with a couple of kids and he just wanted to give them a real suburban Brady Bunch kind of life. Kinda sweet, really. And the disabled Mercedes, which he'd bought used, was his very first car. He'd only had his driver's license for a couple of years. He kept looking at the car and shaking his head. "I don't understand what could have gone wrong" he said, several times. Being the daughter of a mechanic, I tried to be kind and quiet the first couple of times, but finally I couldn't hold back any longer. "When was the last time you checked the oil?" I asked gently. He looked at me, totally perplexed, and repeated as if it was the first time he'd ever heard the word, "Oil?"

It's been over 20 years, and I still feel bad for him. I laugh every time I tell the story, though.