Under the lights (A guerilla mechanic experience in a [nearly] abandoned parking lot)
The brakes were grinding again, not the typical squeek but the deep metal on metal that means I have let it go too long again. So I swing by O'reilly in Big Stone and get a set of pads, no biggie. I get them home loaf around a minute to let the sun go down and when I go to put them on I notice that its the wrong pads. I have just enough time to drive back to Big Stone and swap them out. That leaves me in a predicament because I dont have a place to change these brakes and they need to be done by eleven o clock. Its after nine.
I drive to Food City and decide its too busy to change them there, so I drive up to the old Walmart. I dont know if its legal or not to change brakes in a parking lot. If it's illegal, well don't follow my criminal example. While I'm there under the blue white light one tire off and getting the cool breeze fighting against the warm pavement and the even warmer rotor and caliper, I am reminded of my dad.
He was always getting in spots just like that. Stuck having to do some kind of repair work on the side of the road, or in a parking lot. It made me smile a little. He would plug along and get it done though. It's weird how as adults we look back at our parents and catch ourselves doing the same things or saying the same things. There must have been some wisdom in the things they said or did that settled itself in our brains, because it seems to resurface for everyone.
I guess life is just a big loop, like some kind of ebaums world sound board.
"I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions. And I want them answered immediately!"
... "who is your daddy and what does he do?"
Except usually mine are mundane and have to do with stuff coming out in the wash and saying "Good lands!" Thats one that has resurfaced for me recently.
Changing brakes in a parking lot isn't the worst way to spend an evening I guess.