The Volvo Mechanic From Outer Space

I'm just writing to inform everyone that aliens do exist. I've seen them.

It all started innocently enough. I simply got out of bed, stretched and said,
"It's a beautiful day. Let's get in the car and drive south to see the colors."

The Man gave me one of those who-is-this-woman-and-why-is-she-in-my-house
kind of looks. Then he said, "when I was growing up we never went anywhere to
'see the colors.' The leaves changed that's all. Only Californians go to see the colors."

Are you going with me, or not? I asked.

Before he could think of some excuse like the need for an emergency root canal
he agreed to go.

I had decided to go to a place we haven't seen for awhile, a store called Lehman's
in a little town called Kidron. It's in the heart of Amish country. Lehman's sells
all kinds of non-electric home goods, specifically for the Amish and Mennonite
communities. They have a huge selection of wood stoves, cast-iron cook stoves,
kerosene lamps, and all sorts of kitchen items for canning and preserving, like
apple corers and meat grinders, butter churners and milk pails, all things old
fashioned for simple living. All these goods are housed in a huge barn-like structure
with wooden floors and rafters. It was here several years ago that The Man got
the inspiration for the staircase he designed and had built in our house.

Anyway, I thought this would all be such fun. I never once had an iota of
hesitation, no intuition at all that I was about to single handedly score enough
points to win the BAD MOVE award for 2008.

So, we started out. I drove. The Man rode shotgun, silently, like one of the Sacketts.
And, let me just say that the Sackett brothers may have been great to have around
to rastle up some grub, or during some "gun play," or to shuck out'a town in a hurry,
but otherwise they're really boring guys who say little and think a lot...as in silent
company...as in dull...as in humming to yourself over and over the music to the song
"99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer..."

And, on top of that, the drive was rough going. Somehow I missed it, but apparently
the government had issued an edict proclaiming that on this day all people who
had miserably failed their driver's exam should get out on the road and cause as much
mayhem as possible. We were like the Grand Marshals in the Knucklehead Parade.

And, on top of that, the colors were virtually non-existent. For whatever reason, this
year the trees did not put on a spectacular show. In fact, the trees are much brighter
and prettier right here in Lime Plant City.

And, on top of that, when we finally got to the Lehman store I had to do a triple blink
to keep my eyeballs from falling out of my head because it was so crowded. The little
road was filled with SUV's and Amish buggies and big, round people wallowing around.
They had a flea market going on outside at a livestock auction ground that was full of
overpriced "junktiques." $33 for a two-pint blue canning jar?! What a joke. Did they
think we'd just fallen off the Pumpkin Truck, or what?

We made our way into the Lehman's store and were immediately engulfed in some
kind of sick conga line that weaved and strutted its way through the aisles. I kept
looking back for The Man yelping his name because I knew that if I lost him he'd
be gone for good.

It was bad. I mean, what is going on in the world. This is a town with only one
blinking street light, for crying out loud! This didn't look like Main Street, Kidron
but, rather, Main Street, Disneyland...on a Saturday in June...with free admission!

We left. I felt defeated and depressed. I was also tired and hungry. And irritable.
Scowly and mad. Pouty. I was so upset that for the first time I didn't even want to
be Amish anymore. Usually when we see the Amish people I think how great it would
be to be one of them, work the land, preserve the harvest, milk the cows, hang the
clothes on the clothesline, make quilts, wear plain dark dresses with matching capes
and cute little bonnets, serve cold drinks to the men folk when there's a barn raising,
meet up with Harrison Ford who is actually an undercover policeman and who will
save us from the bad guys and who will fall madly in love with me but be hardly able
to consummate the relationship because we're just so good...well, you get the picture.

So, we get in the car, drive about a mile out of town and our car breaks down. Not
good little Geoie, but our other car, The Van, rhymes with The Man. It wouldn't
shift into any higher gears and the odometer wasn't working.

Minor panic and major yelling ensued, but the car didn't blow up so we kept driving.
We could go, we just couldn't go fast. We finally made it to some god-forsaken
little town where a kid at some god-forsaken gas station told us to go up to the next
god-forsaken town to a place called "Volvos."

Now, we were driving about 25 miles per hour with the flashers on. We turned on
the flasher so that the other drivers (remember the governmental edict I mentioned
earlier?) would know that something was wrong and that they should just go around
us. Well, this whole set up seemed to confuse about 98 per cent of the flunkies on the
road. They just sat back there behind us looking totally perplexed. It was so irritating.

I finally pulled off the road, stopped the car, got out and walked around the car waving
my arms over my head saying, "That's it! I've had it! I can't take anymore!!" Interestingly,
as I was having my hissy fit I happened to look up and see the sign "Volvos." We were
there. We'd made it!

The place looked closed but The Man told me to go over and try the door. I marched
over and grabbed the door thinking it would be locked but it wasn't and it flew open. I
looked in and saw two "men" standing there in a dimly lit garage under the wheel
of a car up on a lift. The sudden opening of the door caused the two men to whirl in
my direction seeing only a huge siloutte against the backdrop of bright sunshine blaring
its way into their workspace. I was as surprised as they were by my intrusion. The door
I'd opened plainly said "Employees Only" so I apologized and then told them we had an
emergency situation, our car was doing this and that and blah, blah, blah. I was very
aware of my mouth making sounds, but I wasn't really in control of what I was saying.
The "men" were just staring at me and not saying anything or even grunting like they
understood me, like they didn't hear English very often. Finally, I ended with can you
check out our car please. The older of the two "men" said that he would have a look at it.

The Man drove the car over and opened the hood. Meanwhile the "men" just stood there
looking at the engine. They didn't move forward or touch anything, they didn't jangle any
wires, and most notably, they did NOT make ANY small talk. They just stood there. The
older "man," who we assumed was the owner of "Volvos" just stared and the younger man
was a full, outright Amish "man" about 25 years old. He was wearing the traditional Amish
outfit, complete with the long-beard-without-mustache combo that the Amish men favor.

I was suspicious of this because everyone knows that the Amish absolutely prohibit
the use of any electrical devices and automotive machinery of any kind. "So what,"
I wondered, "was he doing working here in a car repair shop?" And, was the older
"man" some kind of Amish reject? Had he gotten kicked out for some reason? Except
for his clothing and clean-shaven face, he could've been one of them.

Let me wrap this up by saying that the entire experience was VERY strange. I mean,
most auto garage experiences are a little bizarre, but this was extremely far out. There
was no dialogue. The older "man" did something with some kind of sensor device and
mumbled that we needed some kind of a part then he went back inside his garage and
firmly closed the door. We stood around and waited. Finally The Man went inside where
he was promptly told to please go around to the front of the garage (we didn't know there
was a front) to wait because he was in the employee area. I followed him in and then inside
this darkened garage I found him and said, "what are we doing?" The Man said, "he can't
get the part today." I looked over and the owner "man" and the Amish "man" were both
back under that car's wheel on the lift. I said again, "what are we doing?" The Man said
"I don't know." I said, "Well, then, let's get out of here before they eat us." He said, "Okay."

We left.

They were aliens. I'm so convinced of this. They have infiltrated the questionably-loyal
Amish people and are working on the rest. Think about it. How perfect. You take an
accepted, but very segregated and somewhat mysterious group of people, and you worm
your way in. Today the Amish, tomorrow the Walmart Shoppers.

We made a 25 mile per hour beeline out of there and we didn't look back.

It took us a long time to get home. I remember thinking it would be nice if I made it
home in time to celebrate my next birthday...in April. I don't know if anyone out
there has recently driven any distance at such a slow speed, but let me tell you it is
mind altering and you constantly have to stop yourself from going into an hallucinogenic
state. You should try it.

We only made one stop and that was at a McDonald's Drive Through where we scarfed
down some really bad food that made us both sick (is it possible for a french fry to be
poisonous?), then we continued on home where we finally arrived, fell out of the car,
kissed the driveway, crawled inside, got in bed and through the covers over our heads.

Another delightful day.
By Meridith Sender