Car Trouble

My 19-year-old grandson called on my home telephone.  “Grandpa the car won’t shift into gear.”

As my wife and I sold him her Buick to take to college it seems we have a certain amount of responsibility forever with its upkeep.  However I would help him without that factor anyway.

“Yes,” I replied, “Where are you?”

“At a gas station here in Canton.”

Knowing every station in the village is on Main Street I asked which side of the street.  He told me he was on the left side at Grant’s Gas Station.  Okay, I can handle that.  I said, “I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”  I don’t know which station is actually Grant’s, but there are only three so how difficult can it be?

I uneventfully get to Canton and am on Main Street heading toward where the three gas stations are located.  As I approach a railroad crossing with several vehicles ahead of me I note the crossing arm is jumping up and down like some drunk in a fitful dance.  A village police officer is there directing one-way traffic to the opposite lane, and I make my way around the end of this crossing arm with its fitful jerkiness.

I pass the first gas station.  No Buick there.  I pass the second station with no Buick.  I pull into the third station.  No Buick there either, so I shut off my engine and enter the attached convenience store.  The store clerk informs me that Grant’s station is a Valero Station yet further down the road.  I know that station to be 3 or 4 miles out of town toward Potsdam.  Why did he tell me he was in Canton?

Sure enough he is at the Valero station.  He immediately walks to my Jeep and informs me that suddenly the car would shift, he had no idea why.  At least he had sense enough to remain where he said he was, I was grateful for that.  He then told me he was headed for the Potsdam Walmart store, and would I please drive him there and we could pick up his Buick on the way back.  I said, “Sure.”

He parked the Buick, climbed in with me, and I drove the 3 or 4 more miles to the store.  He went in and made his purchases, returned to my Jeep, and we drove back to his Buick.  It started fine, and we headed back to his apartment in Canton where he resides while attending SUNY Canton College.  When we arrived back at his apartment he parked, and said the car had driven fine.

As I prepared to leave I got a big hug, and a “Thank you, Grandpa, I love you.”  That’s enough pay for anybody.