Damn door

Ever tried putting on lipstick while driving? No, Pastor Dennis, Phil, Gary, et.al. male readers, you don't have to answer this one. Ever tried putting on lipstick while driving several miles when your driver-side door won't close? I found out yesterday that beautifying chore is next to impossible while holding on to the steering wheel with one hand and the door in the other----all the way from Selle to Sandpoint.

I thought about calling Bill on the cell phone to tell him about my dilemma. You can't do lipstick and you can't do cell phones when the driver's side door won't close. I tried both.

The one thing I do know--that you can and will want to do in these situations--is to look straight ahead. I learned to do that by the time I'd reached the Bronx Road when people would pass me (yes, even in that 45 mph zone--where were Ponderay's finest?) and stare at me as if I had no clue that my door wasn't closed. Their stares were reminiscent of those you get when the coffee cup's sitting on the left front fender or the roof top--and staying there as you continue to drive 60 miles an hour, totally oblivious to its presence.

On my way to town yesterday, I stopped once at the Schweitzer Conoco parking lot to call Bill at his office and to slam the damn door a few more times in hopes that the heater may have thawed whatever part of the latch didn't understand "Close, dammit, close!" Apparently, heat wasn't the answer, and while using my cell phone in a cell phone safe environment, I learned that Bill had gone to the Coeur d'Alene for the day.

So, I pulled out to the highway again, stared straight ahead and made my way to Keokee for a meeting. Once there, I tried lifting the door and backing up against it before slamming. No dice. An added problem was appearing overhead. The dome light doesn't go off when the door stays open. I learned, however, after a very nice Scott Johnson came to my rescue with his Swiss Army knife and his W-D 40, that there is a dome light override switch just below my turn signal arm. Never noticed it before.

Scott tried really hard to convince the door to close after nursing it with plenty of lubricant and scratching at the latch a couple of times. He gave up and told me to call Alpine Motors. Before going back to his work, he punched the dome-light override button so I wouldn't have to come out every ten minutes or so and fire up the engine.

Toward the end of my meeting, I did call Alpine Motors and asked for Scott Barksdale in the body shop. Scott was one of my students, a very nice one at that---always friendly, witty and positive---a true gentleman. He also lived in my old neighborhood and always took time to stop and say hello whenever he saw me out walking. Answering the phone, Scott told me to come to the shop any time, and he'd help me out.

That meant one more time of careful maneuvering through town, using my right hand to steer and flip the signals while holding tightly to the left door, especially on right turns. Halfway there, I realized I had no time for applying some much-needed lipstick. When I arrived at Scott's office, he was busy finishing up some paperwork, but not too busy to notice that I'd pulled out the tube and started the lip paint job. After all, it was the body shop.

"Couldn't do it while driving today," I announced. That's when Scott conjured up the image of what it must be like for a desperate house wife to drive, hold the door and do that necessary primping at the same time. We chuckled, just as we had done back at Keokee when Chris Bessler had the same vision I had already considered: Marianne driving the Jimmy around town restricted from injury (?) by seatbelt and bungee cords.

My momentary thoughts of such a situation told me immediately not to go there because, with my luck, I'd come to a screeching stop at some intersection, a bungee cord would pop loose, and slap me smack dab in the face. If I thought the obnoxious staring crowd was bad with the open door, I knew a bungee attack in the next lane would really turn heads. So, I didn't go there; I went to Alpine.

At Alpine, Scott and his crew went to work and had that door shutting on command within two minutes. Apparently, the latch had slipped into a position so that every time I slammed it, I was pushing it further into refusal. Scott told me that if I'd kept that up, I'd be looking at a $200 repair at minimum. Going to Alpine was a good choice.

Besides, I had a nice visit with a former student and some other SHS grads, including the famous "Blackie," aka Duane Black who runs the car sales department there during the week and still works with the Schweitzer Ski patrol. He's in to his 35th year at Schweitzer now, and he told me he's the ski patrol historian.

In Scott's case, I learned about his kids, his ground-up index finger and his belief in the importance of learning to write well. Scott was always a good student in high school, and his appreciation for a good education has increased over the years. In fact, he could serve as an articulate poster child for emphasizing that communications skills are important in all areas, even if you want to work under the hood of a car.

After the Alpine team of car doctors finished the door, they also fixed the window-wiper fluid tank, which entailed a little bypass surgery. Later, I backed out of the shop with a great feeling: I could once again apply my lipstick while driving. In addition, I'd experienced one more reason to believe that teaching is one of the most rewarding profession one could ever choose.

Here was a slightdetour from the norm where an old lady who'd spent so many years trying to open young people's doors, needed hers closed, and one of her fine former students did just that. Thank you to both Scott's and to the Alpine surgery assistants.