Friday morning I took my car in for scheduled maintenance.

“You gonna wait?” check-in-guy asked me. Said there was only one car in front of me. Shouldn’t be that long. 

Found myself a quiet nook at the dealership. Grabbed a coffee from the machine. Hopped on their wifi, started into my work day.

About 15 minutes later, check-in guy rolls up. 

He: We can’t open your hood.

Me:  I’m sorry … what? 

He: Yeah … problem with the latch release. Hood won’t pop. 

Me: I put in washer fluid a week ago. Worked just fine.

He: Yeah, there’s no tension in the cable. Nothing happens when you pull the release. So we gotta diagnosis it. It’ll take about an hour … so it’ll be an additional $160 (on top of the maintenance costs I’d already signed up for.). 

Me: I’m sorry … for what? 

He: To diagnosis what’s wrong.

Me: I thought you said the hood won’t open. 

He: Yeah. 

Me: Isn’t that what’s wrong? (coffee was still kickin’ in)

He: Yeah, but we have to diagnose what’s causing it.

Figuring it’s hard to do maintenance without, you know, opening the hood, I was like … whatever.  

My residual head-shaking was only starting to ebb, when check-in guy rolls up again.

Holding papers. 

He: Yeah, so the latch release cable needs replaced. We have to order the part. Also … it’s hard to get to, and there’s a chance, worst case, that we’ll have to bust the grill to get access to open the hood. So, worst-case, we’d have to replace the grill and the badge, too. 

Proceeds to show me the ‘best’ case … pointing to a really large dollar amount on the paper. 

“And here’s the worst case,” he says … pointing to another really large number for the ‘grill-busting special,’ which would be in addition to the first large number, which is on top of the $160.

So they can do the scheduled maintenance, which will have to be rescheduled. 

Metaphorically, it’d be like going to the dentist for a cleaning, only for them to inform you, “First … we’re going to have to punch you really hard in the face, which may cost you your front teeth, which we would, of course, then have to replace. None of which can happen today … so you’re going to have to leave and come back on Face-Punching Wednesday. After which, you know, the cleaning.”

In literal terms, while still waiting for the dealership coffee to take effect, I learn that it might cost me north of a thousand dollars to open my hood. 

Lemme just say … it’s one of those things that’s hard to say ‘Yes’ to in the moment.

I gave myself a few seconds to let the absurdity of it dig its toes into the sand before externalizing a response … which manifested in me laughing out loud. 

Not at the hood. 

At the week. 

I was only a day removed from having a plumber out to snake the downstairs drain under the driveway out into the backyard … which failed to address the smell coming from our shower. Only a couple hours removed from making arrangements for him to come back next week with “The Thing,” which will cost insert large sum here. 

Only two days removed from the knob on our old dryer going kaput … so now, the dryer just runs constantly … so we have to unplug it between loads. 

And four days removed from ordering a new air conditioner, the cost of which we deliberated long and hard about before deciding to pull the trigger before May decides to summer. 

All of which to say … my laugh had a running start as check-in guy waited patiently for me to take his pen.

I mean … nice work, universe. 

I told check-in guy I’d call him next week … which would gift me the weekend to temporarily indulge one of my favorite past times … ignoring problems hoping they go away. 

___

I woke up Saturday morning still shaking my head at the week’s accumulations … when I gathered my things and headed uptown to the tiny coffee shop where I like to write my weekend medicine.

While waiting in a short line, I remembered another bill I was overdue in repaying.  

Couple weeks ago I invited a friend out to a storytelling event in the city. We hadn’t seen each other in I don’t know how many years. Used to work together. We’d gotten back in touch earlier this year, trading texts and even chatting on the phone. For some reason I’d thought of him that morning so shot him a text asking if he’d be interested in joining me, and was thrilled when he said yes. My son was working in the city that day, so I invited him as well. 

It turned out to be a wonderful evening.

When we arrived, I tossed my name in the hat, from which they would select the evening’s eight storytellers. I’d never done that before. I won’t call it an act of bravery because I did it as quickly as possible so the voice in my head didn’t have time to weigh in. I figured my odds were low, anyway, as the house was packed.

The evening’s first three storytellers could not have been more different in tone and topic, which is what makes such events invariably magical. When the host reached into the hat for the fourth storyteller, I heard my name called. I was so lost in enjoying the company, and leaning into my chair at the other storytellers, it jarred me. And in the few seconds it took to stand up and walk through the full house to the side of the stage, my anxiety went from zero to 60. But, I stepped out … and told a story that I was aching to tell … to the most gracious audience you could imagine.

At the end of our wonderful night, my friend insisted on picking up the tab for our sandwiches, despite Peter and my protestations. 

I promised to him I’d pay his kindness forward.  

Which I remembered just as I was about to order Cortado #1. 

“Big plate, tiny cup?” Sydney the barista asked … which cracked open my weekend’s first smile like a fresh breakfast egg. 

For context … some lost Saturday ago, I’d asked for a saucer to put under a really full cortado she’d made. She went in the back, returned a few seconds later, holding a regular plate. “This is all we have,” she said. 

“Oh, that’s perfect,” I said, as I slid the ridiculously large ‘saucer’ under the tiny cup. As I did I noticed that the plate had a few chips out of it … which made it even more perfect. 

“My life very much needs a generous splash radius.”

I remember telling her before I left that day that I may just insist on the big plate moving forward. 

Now, I don’t even have to ask. 

Big plate, tiny cup. 

Every time Sydney sets it in front of me, it makes me think of all the humans and things in this world that catch the mess of me and crowd surf me through my days. 

Like my friend Jason who met us in the city and insisted on buying beers and sandwiches. 

So after I ordered, I asked Sydney if she could do a pay-it-forward, mentioning my friend Jason by name.

Of course, she said. 

After which I sat down, tuned my earbuds to my favorite jazz station (KCSM, which streams from the college of San Mateo, CA), scribbled my weekly postcard to my daughter, and cracked open my old laptop to sift the week for its treasure. 

I lost myself in the above like I sometimes do, so a good couple hours passed before I returned to the counter for Cortado #2, which must be referred to by its given name — “Portal to Invincibility.” 

Sydney’s co-worker took my order. 

I pulled out my card to tap my payment. 

She waved me off. 

“It’s already paid for,” she said. 

I looked at her quizzically. 

“Someone paid for your order,” she explained. 

Took me a second before the morning’s second smile broke across my face.

“It was him,” Sydney said, coming up beside her colleague to explain, before turning to me. “People have been keeping it going.”

“Really?” I asked.

The coffee shop had filled and turned over a good coupla times in between my first and second order.

And in full disclosure … I hadn’t put all that much on the counter. 

Humble pebbles on the scale, compared to all I owe.

But after a week of major appliance failures, stanky clogs, and a stubborn hood refusing to open — the numbers from which have yet to stop spinning — it wobbled me.

I mean, just the tender reminder that our kindness comes back to us.

The reminder that, even when all the evidence suggests otherwise, the world is still capable of surprising us.

Sometimes it just needs a nudge.

Like us.

I mean … nice work, universe.

I took a couple seconds to let all that sink in.

To give my response a running start.

I set the record straight … that my friend Jason started it, not me.

“Keep it going,” I said, tapping my card. 

Sydney returned a minute later.

Put it down in front of me.