Do you ever get a hankering for some humble pie? Me neither. But sometimes we get served up a slice whether we hanker for it or not. This was my week for gorging on humble pie.
"I think I have a dry socket," I said morosely.
"Oh dear. Can you come in tomorrow morning at 8:20?"
I know they start work at 7:00 a.m., so 8:20 probably seemed like a late start to them. I, on the other hand, start work (or what passes for work around the Love Shack) at about 11:00 a.m. after a leisurely cup of coffee, a couple Duolingo lessons, and breakfast. Nevertheless, I said, "See you tomorrow at 8:20."
I didn't need the alarm. An aching jaw is a very effective wake-up call. I threw on yesterday's clothes, swilled a cold swig of yesterday's coffee, and headed to the dentist in my fancy white minivan. Soon, the dentist was peering into my mouth. "I don't think you have a dry socket," she said. "The hole is healing up nicely. I think you have an infection down in the jaw."
I had a brief moment picturing myself a year from now with a missing jaw after a jaw removal for jaw cancer. Then she said, "I think we'll start you on a round of antibiotics. Are you allergic to penicillin?"
Eight pills into a regime of thirty doses, four per day, I'm feeling much better. I'm still taking the pain pills, but not as often, and the humble pie is going down pretty smoothly too.
Meanwhile, the move out of the Love Shack plods forward at its own glacial pace. I look around at the stacks of boxes and think, why the heck did I pack up so early? Then I remember the yards of lumber that had to be removed from the walls, the furniture that had to find new homes. It takes time to explode a household into smithereens, especially if you want to save any of it to start over somewhere else. It would be a lot easier to just set a match to it all. However, I have neighbors.
Speaking of which, I saw one today, one of those elusive neighbor entities. She was on her way to the laundry room in the basement, and I was on my way to loading boxes of family photos albums and keepsakes into my van to take to my brother's for eternal storage.
We were both wearing masks. We are such good citizens. Minnie asked me how I was doing. I told her I was moving in a couple weeks. She was politely astounded and asked if I needed any help.
"Would you like to take over the care and feeding of the birds and squirrels?" I asked.
She said yes, they could do that. I pointed to the pyramid of cement blocks stacked up near the decrepit fence. I suggested she could move the blocks closer to their back steps.
"We could put some plants in them," she said, hands on hips, surveying the scene. I began to feel a lightening of my stress level. My one regret has been abandoning the critters who have come to rely on this feeding station. Now I can leave knowing Minnie will care for them.
I hope she was serious. I am going to get her a big bag of birdseed.
Meanwhile, did you know that new-ish cars have brains? Yes, they do. And did you know, if you drain the battery, the car's brain doesn't work properly until you retrain it to think? Right, I didn't know that either. Well, my new van lost its brain because the amateur used car dealer who sold me this beast left the key in the car overnight, thus draining the battery. "Ha, ha," he laughed. "No problem. Now you take car to DEQ." DEQ is the state agency that handles the emissions testing and issues certificates so you can get your car registered.
Trusting soul that I am, I trundle off to DEQ, wait in line, and pull up into the garage. Five minutes later, the technician hands me a piece of paper.
"Your car isn't ready to be tested."
"What?"
"This happens when they work on the car. You need to take the car through a drive cycle, then come back."
He handed me the paper. He couldn't see my face under the mask but I think he could sense my distress. "Don't worry, it should pass when you come back."
I took my stressed out brain home, took some pain pills, and looked up "drive cycle" in the big brain in the sky. Drive cycle for this car: Drive 40 to 60 mph keeping a steady throttle for eight minutes, then stop and idle for three minutes. Then drive 20 to 30 mph for two minutes. Finally, stop, turn the key off and leave it off for ten minutes. This should reset all the oxygen sensors.
I'm like, what stretch of highway in this urban setting will allow me to go at freeway speeds and then pull over and idle? I feverishly pulled up Google Maps. Maybe east out the I-84 freeway? Meanwhile, I put calls into the two dealerships in town. Nobody in the service departments was answering. I left two voice mail messages. I left a message on a contact form. I had a nice online text chat with a polite and helpful woman whose first language was not English. She said she would consult her service team and get back to me.
Later in the day I got a call from a young woman. I think I have identified her demographic characteristics correctly. She sounded young, and she sounded like a woman. You can't be sure, not that it matters, but for purposes of describing the situation, I can say it was not a man, and it was not an older woman. I mean, old like me. Hmm. Do I sound like an old woman when I'm on the phone? Older, maybe. Perturbed woman, for sure. Exasperated. Morose. All those things.
"You asked about a drive cycle?"
"Yes! Thank you for calling me back! Is that something you can do there at your dealership?"
"You really don't need us to do that, just drive around for a few days, just regular driving."
"Really, that's it?"
"Yep, just make sure the gas tank is more than half full when you take it back to DEQ."
"Wow. Okay," I said, thinking, dang it, I just got a full tank of gas the day I took it through DEQ. Now I have to drive around and burn up a bunch of gas. "Okay, thank you so much!"
I went on their website, thinking they earned the right to have my business, and I'd like to have this car checked out six ways to Sunday before I take it on a hike to Arizona. Unfortunately, their service department was booked out two weeks, and so was the other dealership's service department, so it looks like I will be using my old fallback method. That is the method that always worked well for my father. I call it the wing and a prayer.
To burn some gas, I drove about 70 miles yesterday to meet my older brother in a Safeway parking lot in a town called Clatskanie. I handed over his inheritance, tucked in a lime green envelope. He listened to my new-to-me car and said, "Does that tapping sound ever go away?"
Well, I think I'll probably make it to Arizona. I am hopeful. Tuesday I'll make another run at passing DEQ. Then I can start the title transfer process. New Oregon plates will arrive at my younger brother's house in approximately four months, long after I've registered the car in Arizona.
