I’ve been waiting for parts to fix my motorcycle for three weeks. I bought a used airbox from a seller on Ebay. He forgot to ship it for a week, so it took a total of two weeks to get it. Meanwhile, my buddy at work has been riding his bike to work and asking me every… single… morning… if I rode in. And each day, I had to tell him that I was STILL waiting for parts.
I finally received the airbox. Unfortunately for me, the seller didn’t include the airbox covers. There were three of them, and they were all missing. So, instead of an airbox, I had more of an… I don’t know… air NOT-box. I contacted the seller and very tactfully (really, I was very polite) told him that I assumed that the airbox would include the covers that would make it an actual box. I asked if he had them available and, if so, could he please ship them to me, because my motorcycle simply won’t run without all of the parts.
The reply email read: “Sorry, as is.”
What could I do? I left him negative feedback and called it a day. The following day, I called the local motorcycle shop. The lady that answered the phone seemed completely put out that somebody would call a parts department and ask if they had three parts. So, no business for them. My last try was a cycle shop that was equal distance away, but simply in the opposite direction. This guy was extremely nice and courteous. He didn’t have the parts but would order them and have them in four days.
Four days apparently means three weeks.
Nonetheless, I received an email from them, telling me that my parts had arrived.
Two days ago, Sarah and Audrey hit the road to go to some walk to end women’s abuse, or something. I’d just as soon tell people to stop hitting women, but if they want to walk for it, that’s their prerogative. After we got dressed, I told Tyler to put his kicks on so we could go get some parts for the motorcycle.
As we began our 20 minute drive, he asked approximately 437 questions. “What’s that? Why is the road gray? How do you make water shoot on your window? How many days until you have to go back to work?” On and on and on. And I answered each question with nothing but patience. “That looks like a squashed bug. Roads are made of asphalt, and asphalt is gray and black. I push a button to shoot cleaner on my window, see, like this. Two days, buddy.”
I love these conversations. He asks great questions, and it’s one of the rare times that I feel like a genius.
“Daddy, what’s that big giant thing?”
“What thing?” I replied. All I saw were buildings, and I was fairly certain he knew what a building was.
“That big huge thing with a grape on it. Way up there.”
I ducked down so I could look up higher out of the car’s window. Behind a building was the town’s water tower. I’d explained what a water tower was to Tyler before, but he must have forgotten. To his benefit, he was only two months old at the time.
“Oh, That’s a water tower. It’s full full full of water. When somebody turns the water on in their house, water is pushed from that giant tower into their house.”
He sat silent for a moment then followed with, “All the way under the ground and dirt and into a house?”
“Yes, Tyler. That’s exactly right. That’s how all the people in all the houses around here get their water; from that big giant water tower.”
“Oh, that’s cool daddy.”
I smiled. “Yes. That is pretty cool.”
“Daddy, do you want to know what’s cooler than a water tower?”
“Yes, buddy. What’s cooler than a water tower?”
Yes, Tyler. I think that’s about right.