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Am I in hell? Please send me the zip code so I can see if it matches mine. What can explain these torrid conditions? Looking around at the general state of “us,” I am pretty sure it’s not our smokin’ hot bodies delivering all this heat. Could be climate change or maybe the state of politics—all of that fiery outrage, or maybe burning nuclear facilities… Whatever the cause, I woke up AGAIN this morning in a sweat after a restless night from the sound of the window air conditioner turning on and off, on and off…and still falling short of comfort. Then I dragged my limp body outside to go to work. Immediately, my eyeballs began to sizzle in their sockets. I made it to my car parked in the open lot. The heat from the black asphalt penetrated the soles of my shoes. Hoping to lift my feet off the scorching pavement, I opened the car door and stood back. The temperature inside the all-black interior had surely reached the melting point. I pulled out my emergency blanket to sit on to keep from searing my flesh as I dug around inside the various compartments and came up with a couple of old cloth COVID masks to wrap around the blistering hot steering wheel just in case I ever wanted to use my hands again. Once on my way, I noticed the streets were mostly quiet…too hot even for cars. Unless it was delirium from heat exhaustion, I am pretty sure I passed the devil sprawled on a city bench selling ribs he had grilled on the scorching hot pavement. He seemed pretty pleased with himself. And he looked all too familiar. I would have turned on the radio for some pleasant distraction, but I was afraid I might drop one of the cloth masks that were making steering possible. For some reason, it seemed that keeping my jaw tense and my brow furrowed was the only force making forward progress possible. I arrived at work and pulled into my usual spot just as the AC kicked in. Inside the office, the air conditioner ran overtime, and I had to put on a sweater. The extremes in temperatures seemed to overwhelm my body’s metabolism and I was near pass-out starving by 11:00 AM. I had to stop and eat my lunch. I feared this was a misstep. By eating too early, I might not have the strength to get all the way home. Coping with this relentless heat was wearing down my resistance, and I feared I might be forced to bargain with the devil for some of his terrible street food. Somehow I made it through the busy work day. It was time to start the exhausting process all over again. I stepped out onto the pavement. The air was a wall of heat. The temperature had risen at least 20 degrees in the hours since I vacated my car. I opened the car door bracing myself for the second wave of heat that would punch me in the face. I sat for a bit with the door open hoping that somehow the outside air would push out the hotter inside air, but it was useless. I could feel that my mood and my judgment were as impaired as if I had been at the bar doing shots all day instead of working at a computer. I muttered to myself, “Jesus, take the wheel,” as I put the car in reverse. I made it home without being pulled over for impaired driving or having to stop to bargain with the devil for bad food. As I entered my parking lot, sunlight flickered through a cluster of trees illuminating a heavily shaded and empty parking spot. I slid between the white lines and sat for a few moments in the soft light of the trees’ canopy. The air conditioner began to blow cold air. My jaw and my brow relaxed. Hope returned along with my senses. I laughed out loud at the image of the haughty devil on the sidewalk. He may be pleased with himself for generating this hellish, unrelenting heat, but with the rustle of leaves, it was the sweet shade that got the last word: God is still here.
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 Short of breath from the summer’s lung-searing heat, I collapsed in my car after a short walk across the parking lot. I heard the flesh on my palms sizzle as I grabbed the steering wheel. Cranking up the air conditioning, I got on my way just as the radio announced it was time for the news. The local stories included an update on record-setting gun violence with multiple homicides, police shootings, politicians defying orders of the State Supreme Court, the Governor’s decision to arm teachers in public schools, teenage car thieves as young as 12, and two men cheating in order to win a fishing contest! “Siri, am I in Hell?” “It’s all a mystery to me.” “Thanks a lot, Siri.” I was on my own. I changed radio stations, and then I changed lanes. Just off the busy interstate highway tucked between a rundown gym and a new gas station, I spotted heaven, a single-story building where the air is free. For the uninformed, heaven has many doors. You are in luck no matter which door you choose. You will come out feeling better and more grateful than when you went in assured that your car and your mind will make it a few thousand miles more. When I was learning to drive, neighborhood gas stations still existed. These were places with tiny, dingy, cluttered offices piled high with grease-stained stacks of papers. Adjacent to the office was a single bay for repairing cars. An attendant came out to pump your gas, clean your windshield, and check the oil. Teenage boys helped out in the summers, but it was mostly the owner doing everything. Jack ran the Boron station in my neck of the woods. It was across the street from the grocery store. Jack was the neighborhood car daddy to anxious teens learning to drive. He solved some problems for a few of the overly-confident new drivers as well, and sometimes their parents were none the wiser. I did get a driver’s license as a teen, but after years of driving, things changed--drivers were on their own to pump gas, diagnose their cars’ troubles, and find help in an emergency. This caused a rise in vehicular neurosis, that constant nagging fear that something will go wrong with your car at the most inopportune time and place. By the time I was a professional making home visits for a living, my own vehicular neurosis was at its peak. That’s when I discovered this heaven. Thankfully, said discovery was made just before the tire pressure light became standard. This new heaven is a place where people fix cars and offer life support to keep them running. That alone makes these people gods in my book. In this heaven, there is actual customer service where you can speak to a live person, get answers, understand your bill, and make an appointment that is convenient. The main act here is honesty combined with courtesy toward their many new and lifetime customers. It was in this heaven that I received an extra measure of grace: the manager and assistant manager, Steve and Jim, became car daddies to my teenage daughter as she learned to drive. How blessed can a single mom be? A far cry from the old neighborhood garage of my youth, this heaven has multiple bays. When one of the doors opens, my eyes are blinded by the well-lit, pristine shop that could substitute for a surgical suite at the Mayo Clinic. The people inside wear clean uniforms and manipulate the many high-tech instruments that now diagnose the functioning of our automobiles. Enter through the front of the building, and you will find a spacious, well-lit waiting area where travel experts are on standby to help you plan your next vacation. Interested? Don’t ask Siri. Artificial intelligence is missing wonder, heart, and conscience, all necessary for an understanding of heaven and hell. But do Google AAA Car Care Plus Grandview. You can get there on your own, or they can send an angel to tow you in. In the meantime, remember to change your oil. For that heavenly peace of mind, you must grease on earth. |
AuthorLilli-ann Buffin Archives
June 2025
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