He said 200,000 more miles but did he mean it? That Boris. Always the optimist. Last night after work I couldn't unlock the driver side door on my Jeep. It was late. I was tired. I opened the passenger door, reached across, unlocked the driver door from inside, walked around, got in, drove home. Those things happen, I suppose. It will only take another ten years or so to use up those 200,000 miles. They'll be gone in the blink of an eye. Why should I care if I can't unlock the driver door of the Jeep. After all, I'm only the driver.
This morning I drove to the Post Office. I wasn't thinking about the door saga of the night before. I was going to get my mail. The dime for the parking meter in hand, I closed my door. Let me say that differently. With dime in hand, I tried to close the door. I couldn't. Whatever failed mechanism had prevented my unlocking the door last night now prevented my even closing it. At least I didn't have to worry about locking or unlocking it.
I stared at my dime. I had been prepared to purchase seven minutes of time. Clearly right now was not the time for buying it.
I got in my Jeep, rolled the window down, and drove to -- you know this routine by now -- the garage at the bottom of the hill where I live.
First let me say that driving a Jeep with standard transmission while holding the door closed is not relaxing. And today was another one of those designated stupid driver days. I guess I got the memo, too. It's just that I couldn't think of any other way of getting the Jeep to Boris. I just don't carry that much duct tape with me.
Boris is by nature intense. He dropped everything to study my door. He tried locking and unlocking it. He tried closing it. After concluding that it was broken, he got a hammer, a chisel, and about a gallon of WD-40 oil.
He fixed it. Boris refuses to be undone by anything mechanical. When I asked him what had gone wrong with it, he shrugged his shoulders and repeated that it was broken.
"However," he concluded, "now it isn't."
That's Boris for you.
I returned to the Post Office, bought time with my dime, and got my mail.
The mail was all junk and went straight into the recycling bin. I'm glad, though, that I had enough time to spend some with Boris.