Oct 1, 2002 4 min read

In the years before I married, I drove what some would call a primitive SUV – an International Scout. Yes, it had four-wheel drive and yes, it looked something like a station wagon. But that’s where any similarity to today’s crop of sport utility vehicles ends. It was sparse on creature comforts. I liked the vehicle and owned three before I married. Now where most people who drove some distance to work or on vacation bought some type of road insurance to cover breakdowns, flat tires, etc., I always took care of any minor repairs myself. I changed my own oil. I even installed a new thermostat on my Scout when the old one malfunctioned. It was one of those macho things, I suppose.

Today, however, as I have passed the half century mark and am closing in on official “senior citizen’ status (according to some fast food restaurants) I have been enjoying the luxury of having a plastic card in my wallet that allows me to let someone else change a flat, jump start a dead car, bring some gasoline when the tank has mysteriously run dry, etc.

Since acquiring membership in one of the road clubs, I have used the services three times. Fortunately, on each occasion, the vehicle in question was parked either in front of our house or in the driveway.

On the first emergency call, the car was out of gasoline. The garage our road membership uses arrived in under an hour and put in enough gasoline to get the buggy to the nearest pump. All I had to do was call, tell them the problem and give them directions to our home.

The next time, it was a flat tire on my wife’s car. I was getting ready to go to work and really didn’t have time to get down and dirty to change the flat. All I did was call, tell them the problem, and, once more, give them directions to the house.

The third time I called there was a problem getting the car started. On this occasion it had to be towed to a garage. Again, all I had to do was call, tell them the problem, and, once more, give them directions to the house.

These three calls for help all occurred during the first year of membership and, under the provisions of the club, were free. I didn’t even have to pay for towing.

Great. So when it came time to renew the membership, my wife asked, “Should we?’ and I said, “Most assuredly we should.’

Which brings me to emergency number four.

My Buick, a most reliable machine, failed me. As I was backing out of the driveway something happened. When I tried to restart the car, all I got was a clicking noise that I have heard enough in my lifetime to know that the battery has lost its juice.

It was on an evening when it was pouring rain and I really didn’t feel like searching for my jumper cables and attempting to restart the Buick using energy from my wife’s car. Besides, I really didn’t need to drive it the next day. So, I waited until morning and – that’s right – called, told them the problem, and gave them directions to the house.

That part about giving directions, however, was getting a little tired. I mean, they had been to my house three times. I figured they should have their repair truck programmed to drive itself to our home.

Not only did I have to give them directions but the service man called a few minutes before arriving to confirm the directions.

Once he arrived and saw me he said, “Oh, I’ve been here before. You know, maybe I should just buy a house next to you and bring my tools along,’ he quipped.

Some people might have been offended. Not me. It’s exactly the sort of thing I would have said in a similar situation.

Frankly, I might take him at his word. Not that we plan on having a lot of car trouble in the future. But it sure would be a lot more handy to have the guy who fixes things as a neighbor. Of course he might ask me for directions when I call for help. I know I would.

Have a good day.

Jim Pletcher is the Herald-Standard’s business editor. E-mail: jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.