AAA Angel

“Hey, Miss McNeill,” said the AAA guy.

It was D.

D. was sitting in his work truck with a Mona Lisa smile on his face, appropriate given that my Honda Accord, named Champ, was pulled over on the side of the road near the semi-local coffee shop, its bumper lodged under the front wheels. A small group from the coffee shop had assembled, some with advice, but mainly just to gawk at my mangled automobile.

The accident was a classic case of driver miscommunication (mainly mine): I thought the driver of the white Ford Explorer was waiting for me; she thought I was waiting for her. We both surged forward at the same time, and CRASH! The SUV escaped with a wee scratch. My bumper was ripped off almost completely, and in the process of pulling over, I pinned the bumper under my car.

After getting out of the car and circling it, and circling it, and circling it, I finally collected my wits and called AAA. The crowd murmured, “She has AAA…She has AAA…She has AAA…”

Yes, I had AAA, a gift from my mother.

And here he was.

Approaching the truck, I saw D.’s familiar face. He was Mexican, with black hair tinged with the grey of a 40-something, clean-shaven, and wearing a work shirt and a gold cross. His brown eyes had a twinkle, at odds with what I was experiencing a grave situation: the crashing of my car.

Now, D. and I had met a month or so before for another automobile problem. My car was on the side of the road outside my condo complex, its battery dead. Like most people, car trouble fell into the category of the most loathsome kind of life’s inconveniences. I was in a state of minor distress.

Consequently, I was kvetching to D. about the state of my car, which extended to extrapolating on the ironies of life. As he was testing my battery, I was missing work. Not only was I missing work, but I had dressed in my work-a-day best, intent on asking my boss to be a reference for additional employment. Now I was absent.

“That’s too bad. That’s really too bad for you.” He continued slyly, “You still going to ask her for a reference?”

Well, yes I was, and she would surely agree…but that wasn’t the point. My circumstances had been altered. My plans thwarted. My day ruined.

But D.’s humorous remark gave me pause. Were things really all that bad? After all, it was just a battery, and the reference was still there for the asking…

D. and I kept chatting when in the midst the conversation, we witnessed a little dog run out into the middle of the road. Immediately, the dog was hit by an SUV.

The dog's last moments of life passed quickly away, and I looked on in horror. D. went about his business, saying, "I almost got killed last week by a Prius while I was doing a job on the freeway." He continued philosophically, "These things happen. They happen all the time. You just have to be thankful for every day you're alive."

When he was done, D. gave me the paperwork to sign and I asked him on impulse, “Are you a Christian?” “Yes,” he replied. “I thought so” was all I could say. At any rate, he wasn’t someone I would forget.

Remembering my last episode with D., I asked tactlessly, "Is the only reason you remember me because of that dead dog?"

He replied, "No, that's not the only reason." This time he grinned in earnest and then got to work.

D. assessed the situation with my car and removed the broken parts without any fuss. "You're lucky no one was hurt. This isn't bad. It isn't bad at all. It's just the bumper. You can still drive the car."

I could not be consoled. My poor Champ! Now he had another injury to show for his many years of fine service. Not only was the accident a waste of time and money, but it was further evidence that my level of anxiety was impairing my ability to function. Could I even trust myself to drive again?

D. interrupted my catastrophic line of thinking by saying, "You know, you're very lucky. Nothing really serious happened. You lost your bumper. No one got hurt. Accidents happen all the time. I see them every day."

D. looked at me significantly. "You're going to be OK," he said, handing me a pen. I signed my name on the paperwork, and then he left.

Shortly thereafter, T., my significant other, appeared with his truck, put the pieces of my car in the bed, and followed me home. The next day I took Champ in to get the repairs done, at the cost of a few pretty pennies.

While thinking of the damage I inflicted on my car, I tried to keep D.'s words in mind. No one was hurt. The damage could have been worse. Accidents happen.

But my anxieties could still not be held completely at bay.

Once I picked up my car and got back in the driver's seat, however, I realized how grossly inflated my fears really were. I felt the familiar purr of the engine, played roulette with my radio, opened the sun roof, and smiled as I put the car into drive. I was good to go. I recalled D.'s words and took a moment to appreciate the present. More than anything, though, I realized that Daniel had something precious that I was sorely lacking: perspective.

I found myself relaxing, and once again, I pledged not to let my fears run my life, particularly when the D.'s of the world were there to remind me to be thankful. After all, who knew that the universe would send a grief counselor, a gentleman, and a sage in a AAA guy?

Twice!