We’re driving down I-66 when Delilah comes on the radio and M. says, “I’m going to give her a call.” The idea is you call in with a love story — more specifically, Delilah has asked callers to tell her about “someone on your heart and mind tonight.” And so M.’s initial reaction was “that’s you!”
But then the number is read — 1-888—
And M starts to doubt himself. Won’t it be weird if he calls while I’m sitting right here? i.e. at the wheel of this 2002 Toyota that feels like it’s about to give out at any moment. I’m mostly focused on the clunking sound — doesn’t it sound worse than yesterday? Am I crazy? He hears that, right? But also, no, I don’t think it’s weird. It’s romantic. Go ahead and jot down—
“I didn’t catch it,” he says. He’ll call next time.
I suggest maybe he could Google the number — just type “Delilah, 1-800” — and he corrects me “no, 888” and then the clunking gets louder and an SUV cuts us off on the right hand side and I say “I’m sure it’s online somewhere, just Google!” as I hit the breaks to avoid an accident
and M. just says “babe, the moment has passed.”
Which is why — if by chance you were listening to 97.1 WASH-FM somewhere in the DMV last Thursday evening — you didn’t hear a song dedicated in my honor.
We had the Toyota towed to a garage yesterday and the manager quoted us $980 for an alignment of the front inner and outer side rods, left and right. I’m trying to convince Dad to trade it in on Carvana instead. It’s time. This one has done its time. But he only wants a Tesla, and something about supply chains. I told him maybe he could get a used car that doesn’t make a clunking sound as a temporary fix.
But the problem is Mom got COVID via a friend in a nursing home in Cincinnati and Dad hopped on the next plane to drive her home in a rental before I could convince him otherwise
and now they have the rental, and I have this clunker — or the garage has this clunker — that I’ve been using to make three-hour round trips — four, if there’s traffic — to bring them groceries.
Dad wants me to call the rental agency and ask, what do you do when a car is exposed to COVID?
TL;DR I haven’t read much since I got home from Europe. When my days aren’t filled with radio waves, I’m on WhatsApp liking TikToks sent to me by my German niece. M. pointed out recently how crazy radio waves really are. Like somebody’s voice is just up there, suspended on a frequency. A friend who does mornings on WASH-FM tweeted about how much he misses KANE and I liked his Tweet because me too.
The garage called this morning to say actually it’s not the alignment. The rear shocks are leaking which puts you at $1280. Everyone on NextDoor says the garage is a total scam. Dad is still inclined to say, fix it. And I say, Dad, for $1280—
but then he sounds so tired, and the moment had passed.
Radio waves *are* super weird!
The song I want to dedicate to you is, “Na na na na, na na na na,, hey hey hey, kiss that Toyota GOODBYE!”
That’s so interesting about the moments having passed. Do we need to strike while the iron is hot, or can one somehow extend the moment, by slowing time?
Surf those radio waves!!