As I left my home for my 55-mile commute to work, my car protested with random, gentle sputters. These sputters became increasing stronger and more prolonged the further I drove.
With each falter of the engine, my anxiety soared - what if I couldn't make it into work? What if I am urgently needed and I'm not available? Would I be fired? How much is this repair going to cost? Will I have enough money? Will I still have a job to pay for this overpriced repair?
As I arrived at my work’s parking lot, my faithful beast of burden violently lurched and spasmodically coughed to a climactic stop. At that point, the only thing still shaking was me as a carload of adrenaline and fear coursed through my body. I had made it, but just barely.
These little adventures have been happening on and off the past six months. Fortunately, I have AAA who has had to rescued me a couple of times now. And, once again, after yet another a tow back to civilization and much-needed repairs, my worries about my job and repair costs were greatly exaggerated over this most recent of adventures.
Still, perhaps I would be better off trading in my 300,000-mile car for a house-on-wheels. Today's recreational vehicles are pretty much a mobilized version of a furnished home. So, no matter where I get stranded, my broke-down vehicle instantly becomes a stocked kitchen, a furnished living room and a comfy bedroom as I waited for my trusty mechanic to begin necessary rv repairs.
In fact, I could save myself lots of time and money by parking my home-away-from-home in the parking lot of my employer. I could definitely sleep-in much later and still be able to dash to work at the last moment.
The only downside would be in not having the "inclement weather" excuse. "Sorry, boss, there's 2 feet of snow on the ground so I can't make it in." Not a problem though, with a little planning. I would only have to drive far enough away and maroon myself. "Sorry, boss. I can't make it into work today. I'm stuck in Hawaii."
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