It was a delightful evening. The Symphony was playing, it was a cool late winter day. I invited a good friend, also a Wheaton alum, and another friend, with whom I had walked the fields of Eire. I dressed up, wore my nice suit, my cashmere overcoat, expensive shoes. A lovely evening was had, the symphony was delightful. We enjoyed the music, the company, the whole experience. Then it came time to go home. Back to northern Azusa we went, where our separate cars were parked. Each of us then went our way, me to my home, they to theirs. Three miles east on the freeway for me, the 210, then off the appropriate ramp.
I sniffed. Something smelled. The car next to me must have been riding its brakes. The light turned green, we went forward, the smell lowering as, I assumed, the distance between the car grew. Another light, the smell again, an acrid odor, car distinctive. It continued, varying, the mile to my home. The garage was full, the only parking a hundred yards away. I parked. The smell again, I knew it was me. Overheating, I guessed. Had I checked the coolant recently?
Once in park, smoke came from my hood. White smoke. Overheating, that's it. Steam was rising. I got out to open my hood, long coat waving behind me, dress shoes clicking on the asphalt. I shut my door behind me, and turned again to front. The smoke turned black.
"Oh, shoot," I said, maybe with more forceful words than that. Overheating does not black smoke bring.
The hood was unlatched, I now curious, so up the hood went. First thing I noticed?
Fire! My engine was on fire! Bright Yellows and reds dancing in anger upon my block, lapping up oil and rubber, leaping high to the raised hood.
"Oh, shoot," I said, again likely with more force.
The first thing which came to mind? The fire extinguisher in my garage.
I ran from car to home, in black suit, nice shoes, long cashmere coat. Through the front door into the garage, grabbed the extinguisher, buried beneath other junk as it was, then back out. Back to the car, sprinting in full symphonic wear. The hood open, fire and smoke gushing out. I pulled the pin. Then I stood back, pressed the trigger. A dribble of white. Old extinguishers need to be recharged. I learned this at the moment of most need.
"What now," I thought. Then the following went through my mind, seriously.
"Well, if my car explodes I don't want to lose the stuff inside."
While my engine continued to burn, I opened my driver door and began throwing out books, papers, and other things which, hey, I didn't want to lose in a massive fire. I thought at the time, "What if it explodes now?" Then I decided I really did want that stuff, so I kept emptying my cars contents on the grass nearby. One of the last things I saw was a half full water bottle. I took it out, went back to my engine fire, and threw the contents on the flame.
It worked! Surprising me. Not completely, but enough to make a raging fire a smoldering one, which died down in the cold air. I stood and watched it die, full suit, long overcoat, nice shoes on a cool, clear late winter night, smelling of oil enriched smoke, laughing in fact at the ludicrousness of yet another car problem.
I did have to start taking the bus to class when they started again two weeks later. A half hour car drive became a two hour bus ride. Not part of the accepted California lifestyle. Good for the quest after humility. I honestly didn't mind, only it took away the flexibility which was needed for some other stuff I wished to do. Alas, more interference in my academic and professional life.
God, however, still is in charge.
