My minivan had an oil leak, and the garage I always take it to, was unable to fix it. Even though it clearly says that it is a Mercury Villager, apparently it has a Nissan Quest engine. Who knew?
They highly recommended Mehdi, at Best Foreign Auto. Apparently, it is also a junk yard and he is the best guy in the area to work on foreign cars. I called and was jerked into an altered state by a very pleasant-sounding voice. Mehdi. I was surprised because I don’t think I have ever called a garage or junk yard and have someone answer so sweetly.
He told me that my guys had already called and would it be convenient for me to bring it in on Thursday evening. I said, sure. On Thursday afternoon Mehdi called. He was very apologetic and was sorry to inconvenience me, but his mechanic’s uncle had died, and he would not be able to work on my van to the following week. I said, well that’s no problem, just let me know.
He called the following week, said his mechanic was back and I could bring the minivan in that afternoon. When I arrived, I finally came face to face with him, and I felt like I had been suddenly swept into some kind of dream world. He was just so damn happy. He excitedly pointed out the box of parts to me to show me they had arrived and said the van would be ready the following afternoon.
My daughter, Leni, (and best ACIM buddy) had driven me and I told her what had happened and how damn happy Mehdi was. I explained that I felt like I was on drugs, such was his impact. (I have never taken any kind of anti-depressants, but I have always imagined that this is how that happiness would feel, and uh, I may be wrong on that).
The next day Mehdi called, and he was clearly distraught. He said “Remember I showed you that box with the parts?” I said, “yep”. He says, “Oh no, a part was missing! I have ordered another one, but you cannot have your van until tomorrow!” Now I’m still feeling like I am in this drug-induced bliss world of his and cannot imagine how anyone could be that upset over something so trivial. So I reassured him that everything was fine, and it was definitely not an inconvenience for me.
Mehdi calls the next day and says, “Your minivan is ready, and you can pick it up this afternoon!” OK, buddy, thank you so much.
I know they mean well and it’s probably a sign of respect, but I always think it is so damn silly when these garage wizards begin to explain to me what the have done.
It’s like listening to Ken Wapnick in my early ACIM days, I swear they are speaking Martian. I do not have a technical brain, and I am quite content with that. I happen to be married to a wizard who can make or fix anything, so have always considered these types of things as “boy jobs.” Sorry to Gloria Steinem and the rest of ye emancipated women. It’s just a happy fact I realize about my own damn self.
After his very thorough explanation of the magic he had performed, he said: “You are such a nice lady, and I wanted to make a surprise for you. I looked all over my salvage yard (and at that point I realized I would never ever call them junk yards again!) and I could not find a hub cap for your car.” Really?! Who does that kind of stuff anymore? I join in his delight, and say, “Oh buddy, my minivan is 15 years old and I really don’t mind that it is missing a hub cap.” He will not be stopped, this genius of good will. “It is in such good shape and will look much better when I find one. I have access to salvage yards all over the country, and I will find you one. Then I will call you up, you come in and I will pop it on for you.” And then he clapped. Honest to God, I just wanted to start doing some kind of happy dance with him!
I leave, remain in bliss about his impact on me, and wonder if his world is always that magical. He calls me a couple of days later, and tells me he has found a hub cap and I should come in so he could pop it on.
I decided that I really should take him something, so I stopped at the local bakery and picked him out a nice box of petite fours. When I walked into his shop and handed them to him, he put them on the counter and gave me a big fat hug.
OK, buddy, I just have to know: ARE YOU ALWAYS THIS NICE TO PEOPLE AND SO DAMN HAPPY? He said, I try, but sometimes not so nice people come in here so I really appreciate people like you. ME? OK, I admit that after the “death thing” I have arrived in a pretty miraculous place, and perhaps he is just a reflection of my state of mind. He obviously was delivered to lovely me so I can relish in the experience of divine proof that this has all been worth it.
I am just so damn grateful to be here.
Much Love and Pink Clouds,