A Tire Check and Reality Check

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Today I decided to drive to Balmorhea State Park for a swim, but before I ventured out, I stopped at a small garage in town to have my tire pressure checked.

At the garage, I parked my car in front of one of bays and walked over to the tiny office. The only mechanic on duty was hunched over a desk and fully engrossed in a pile of grease-stained papers and ledgers. A few seconds passed before I realized the old man had no idea I was standing in the doorway. I took the opportunity to look around and assess.

The clutter that covered his desk had metastasized like a cancerous growth to the surrounding walls. Yellowing photos of -- his children? grandchildren? great-grandchildren? -- were posted amidst children's drawings, expired legal notices and flyers advertising cars for sale. Judging by the hairstyles and clothing of the teens in the photos, I imagined that they were now my age or even older. Probably had kids who were teens.

I looked back at the man. He had put down his pencil and was now assessing me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you standing there." He slowly rose to his feet to face me.

"That's OK," I said. "I've got a car out there. I'd like to get my tire pressure checked. I've been hearing this noise - like, a clicking or a ticking. And it seems to increase in frequency when I accelerate. Maybe it's nothing, or maybe it's something. I really don't know. But I thought I'd better check because I'm driving to Balmorhea State Park today."

The man stood there and made no motion to speak. So, I continued.

"It's a 2006 Saab. It's parked right outside. That's an OK place to park? I mean, do I need to move it into the bay?"

The old man was squinting at me, his mouth shaped in a silent "Eh?" How old was he, anyway? 85? 125?

"...sooo, can you check the tire pressure then?" I wondered if maybe he was a bit senile.

But suddenly the old man came to life. He took one step closer to me and leaned in so his eyes were level with mine.

"Who ARE you?"

His question was so sincere, so joltingly confrontational, that I almost wanted to confess that I was still trying to figure that out.

But instead, I chose a simpler reply.

"Oh, excuse me, sir. My name is Katie Ford. I'm visiting from Austin."

"And you want me to check your tire pressure?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble."

The old man spit out a cough. Or was it a laugh?

"Sure, I can," he said. "But your generation is gonna have to learn to do these things. What are y'all gonna do when my generation dies off?"

He paused for my answer. I laughed halfheartedly, not knowing what else to do. He raised an eyebrow and then continued his speech.

"In my opinion, it all started to go downhill in the '60s, and then in the '70s it went like this... "

His hand took a dramatic dive toward the floor.

"And then there were the '80s... ." His voice trailed off as he dismissed the decade with a swat in the air.

I stood silently, a helpless and despicable child of the 70s and 80s.

"So, you're from Austin, huh?" His expression, for the first time, looked friendly.

"Yes, sir."

"What are you doing in Marfa?" The amusement in his voice now unmistakable.

"Well..." I began, but then stopped. Admitting that I was on a "working hiatus" probably wasn't a smart move with this particular audience. "Um, I guess I wonder that myself sometimes."

This time, for sure, it was laughter that came from the old man. He stood there for a moment, clearly amused with himself. Or me. Or Lord knows what.

I smiled apologetically, and the old man pat my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Let's go check those tires of yours," he said with a conspiratorial wink that told me I was going to be all right - even if I was a child of the '70s and '80s.