carless, carfree

My car, Dieter, is broken. I think my beloved VW Cabrio is feeling a little jealous about this whole walking thing. He makes a flap, literally, whenever I brake. It's as though every time I slow down he thinks I'll stop and abandon him for another 2 months.

I took him to the garage. As I was leaving, they offered me a ride to the Metro. It is less than a half a mile to the Metro. I think I actually laughed aloud. No, thanks. I'll walk.

So I walked home. It was 2 miles. On the way home, an acquaintance was biking by. She recognized me, and she crossed to the other side of the road to greet me. She said, "Can I walk with you for awhile?" We walked together.

Later in the day, the garage called about Dieter. I tried to ask important questions about what is wrong with him. I tried to understand the problems, but they were complicated; my attempts were truly laughable. I decided not to bother getting upset. I heard R.'s words ring in my head, "What is money for?" and I agreed to the exorbitant repairs.

Somehow, my conversation with the nice employee leaped from brake pads to my job at NVCC to his Spanish class at NVCC to my trip across Spain, and before I knew it, I had forgotten about the frustrations of motor vehicles. I was examining my scarred feet. Rotors, I don't get. Blisters, I understand.

I'm walking over to pick up my car later today. My credit card is going to burn. When I get home, I'm going online. I'm going to pick up that scalding piece of plastic and buy a new pair of hiking boots. Dieter needs to learn to share.

Tomorrow, Dieter is taking me and my feet on a ride. This time, my feet are going into the shop. Podiatrist.