A manly tale of a manly man
Posted 1/10/17 (Tue)
What A Joke
By John Bayer
I am a man. (I feel the need to remind my readers of that every so often.)
One of the great things about being a man is that men stay cool under pressure. We are natural problem solvers, and are able to maintain control even when everything around us is chaotic.
I had to exhibit these amazing qualities this morning when my car broke down. I was speeding along the busy boulevard when the power just went out.
I screamed slightly, in a manly way. Luckily I had enough momentum to pull the car into an empty parking lot before it stalled completely. I turned the key in the ignition to restart the car. Nothing. I tried it again. Nothing again.
I put my man brain to work on solving the problem. I came up with an ingenious plan to keep turning the key in the ignition until something different happened. After about a dozen tries, the car still would not start.
Undeterred, I asked myself, “What would a powerful, in-control man do in this situation?” I called my sister. She suggested I contact our father, who happened to be in town that morning.
I called my daddy and, in a very masculine voice, begged him to come save me. When he got there, he told me to “pop the hood.” I vaguely remembered that under the hood is where the engine along with other parts that make the car go are located.
We stared under the hood. I said, “It all seems to be there.”
Dad listened as I tried to start the car again. He said, “I don’t think it’s the battery. Might be the fuel pump.”
“I thought fuel pump too,” I lied like a man. “That or maybe the crank staff, or perhaps the Hasenpfeffer phalange.”
We needed a plan. I suggested that we get out our man tools; use them to unscrew the license plate and file down the VIN number, then drive away in his car and pretend none of this ever happened. I read somewhere that’s what Steve McQueen did when his car wouldn’t start.
Instead, we called a tow truck. My dad and I watched – as only truly powerful men can – while our tow truck driver, Jenny, loaded my car onto the bed of her truck. I kept a careful, macho eye on her to make sure she didn’t accidentally dent the bumper or break off the Hasenpfeffer phalange.
Jenny delivered the car to the auto shop without incident. The mechanic got behind the wheel and turned the key. The car started right up.
. . . I cried like a man.