Several weeks ago, Joe the Plumber paid me some money back. Yesterday, he hoped to borrow some back again. He proposed: "$40 for gas?" I sighed, and said yes. But I asked for a favor: Would he drive me home? I hadn't driven into work yesterday because I was facing an uncertain driving-competency test with the tooth-pulling and all, and needed a lift. So, he came to pick me up.
I pushed Bella the Dog out of the front seat and climbed into his van. There were cans and bottle and papers and tools everywhere - his 'home' needed a cleaning. Hard for me to see out the cracked windshield, and the seat belt wouldn't work. But the real problem was that the vehicle barely ran at all. It chugged. Unburned gasoline gave the exhaust an exhilarating hydrocarbon-rich odor. The van was misfiring terribly. "I need new injectors," he explained. "Repair guy ripped me off. I ran out out of transmission fluid too. It's supposed to take eleven gallons: I had just enough money for three gallons. In order to shift gears, I have to increase the engine rpm first, then take my foot off the accelerator, so the gear lever can shift." He illustrated just how hard that shifting process was.
I guess this transportation debility explains why I haven't seen much of him lately. So, we chugged to the ATM, got the cash, and chugged over to my house, where he dropped me off.
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