It was a dark and stormy night and the rain beat hard against the shop roll-up door. My shop assistant, who I called “Chief”, and I were working late on an engine transplant. There had been problems with the first short block and now the job was a week overdue. So, we were playing late night ketchup.
Over the storm's din, I thought I heard a car pull up. I looked up at the shop rollup door and saw car headlights shining through the window. Then a horn honked. I walked over to the door and I peered out. The car’s headlights and grille were square. A Volvo? Just then lightning flashed across the sky and I could clearly see a Volvo wagon parked in the shop drive.
I didn’t recognize the car. I know, I can’t remember a person’s name worth a hoot. I have a little better luck at recognizing people’s faces. But, you bet that I know the face on every car that we service. I may not recognize the owner, but I really know my customer’s cars. And this wasn’t one that had been in my shop.
I said, “Who in the name of Pete could that be? Get the door!” I yelled to Chief. He grabbed the pull chain and began yanking on it furiously. It made a loud metallic sound as the door slid upward. When the door was high enough for me to lean out of the shop light into the darkness, I could see a figure waving at me from inside the car. It was hard to make out who it was because the rain was beating so hard against the windshield. I still didn't notice the wipers weren't working.
That was my first clue as to why this late night visitor was at my shop door. And I didn't even catch it! I couldn’t see the person inside because the wipers weren’t moving. Maybe it was the confusion of the moment, maybe my tiredness from keeping late night hours. Or maybe that horrible distant memory—the memory that I tried to forget—that kept me from noticing what was such an obvious problem.
There I stood, trying as hard as I could, to see who was inside the car. It looked like a female and a small child. It made sense that they were here at my door because of some kind of car trouble. But I still didn't see the wipers not working. You’d probably say, “Duh!”
Chief motioned for her to pull forward into the shop as the rain blew in reaching almost to the first repair bay. I could see her nodding head as she put the car in gear and inched forward. As the windshield cleared the door and the rain concentrated its efforts on the back of the car, I could barely make out her face. I didn't recognize her. But I did recognize the look of fear on her face.
She opened the window and gasped at the same time. The first words out of her mouth were, “Please, you've got to help me.” Then it hit me like a flash of lightning. I was instantly thrown back into those horrible memories. It had been more than a decade, but I remembered it like yesterday. Chief and I, a late night job just like this one. A car pulled up in the rain. A woman was in the car. She rolled down the window...
“Please... you've got to help me. He's got a gun and he's after me.” The woman had a look of terror on her face that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I motioned her to pull into the shop and quickly closed and bolted the door. When she got out I saw she was soaking wet.
“What's going on, Miss? What’s wrong?” She blurted out, “It's my boyfriend. He's going to kill me!” Then I noticed the nasty bump on the side of her pretty face. And her make-up was smeared.
“Should I call the police?” “No, they'll never believe me. You will never believe me. Oh dear...” Then she broke into sobbing, covering her face with her hands.
Just then I decided to take a look outside and see if there was anyone was lurking out there. I thought I saw a dark figure dart around the side of the building. Or was it just my imagination playing tricks on me? A shudder of fear ran down my spine.
As I walked over toward the sobbing woman I thought I heard a sound coming from the shop back door. In a dead panic, I quickly ran to the back of the shop—just in time to see the door being pried open. Someone really was trying to break into the shop! I stood there frozen as shivers of terror went up and down my spine.
I ran to the front of the shop and joined the woman and Chief in the front office. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911, telling the operator that someone was trying to break in the door. We stood there in silence looking out the window into the empty street outside. It seemed like forever before the police arrived. I saw two cops get out and split up, one going each way around the building. Then I heard gunshots...
The sound of the door slamming shut brought me back into the present. I had been daydreaming again. It was another flashback. But, this wasn't the same. She wasn't drenched with rain. Just a motorist needing late night help with a car problem. I took a deep breath, calmed my voice as I asked, “What's the matter Miss?” The young woman replied, “My wipers stopped working. You were the only place open. I have to drive to Atlanta tonight. Can you please help me? Can you get them working again?” “Sure.” I said, breathing a big sigh.
Chief ushered her and the sleepy little boy that she held in her arms into the office. I decided to start with a quick fuse check. As my luck would have it, or lack of luck, the fuses were okay. At that point, I suspected the wiper motor was fried—something that I wouldn't be able to fix at this time of night. Just then I remembered somewhere back in my memory about something with the Volvo grounds, about a bad grounding problem for the electric wiper motor. On this wild hunch, I decided to check and see.
First, I disassembled the cowl to get at the wiper motor. Using a jumper wire, I clipped one end on the mounting stud for the motor and the other end to the chassis. The motor whirred instantly to life. “Bad ground” I announced to the cars sitting silently as my audience in the shop. Grabbing a portable drill and drill bits from my toolbox bottom drawer, I drilled a new hole so I could establish a better ground for the wiper motor. Using a little piece of wire, two wire terminals and a small bolt, I repaired it in a total of ten minutes.
When I explained what I did to fix the wiper problem, the look on my midnight visitor's face was worth a thousand thank-you’s. “You are ever so kind! Most places would take advantage of a stranded woman like me.” she exclaimed. “How can I ever repay you for your inconvenience and wonderful talent?” “Don’t worry about it. It’s all about the job we do. After all, the sign out front says “Mechanic on Duty.’ Joking I said, “We’re the 24-hour-toolbox. We never close!”
After she paid her bill, which came to a whopping $21.75, I told Chief to call it a night and go home. And by the next day I had completely forgotten about the incident.
But, she didn’t. About a week later she dropped by with a homemade peach pie. Even more so, I loved the feeling it left me with—an alternative and a happy ending to what had been a midnight mechanic's nightmare that happened to me once before. That nightmare I'll never forget. But that's another story.
