The Dinosaurs are 6000 Years Old, and I am Burning Them, but Fast

Depending on how things go over the next day, I may be the owner of a ridiculous red diesel pickup truck.

I got my dad to run me to the dealership, on the assumption that I would be driving the pickup out. It was probably 20 minutes before I got to see the finance guy. He’s like the bridgetender from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. You have to get past him, regardless of whether your quest includes borrowing money.

They provided me with about a ton of forms, and being a lawyer, I read every line. This seemed to drive the finance guy insane. He was polite enough, but his manner suggested only a tiny thread of reserve was preventing him from lunging across the desk. He seemed extremely upset that I was wasting his time, which is remarkable, in an establishment where one of the primary tactics is to waste the customer’s time. I don’t make the rules, Finance Guy. I just turn them around on you to make your spleen pop.

I found a problem with one of the forms. They wanted me to swear to the truck’s VIN number, and since I had not personally verified it, I made them go get the truck and bring it to me so I could confirm it. I thought the finance guy would go nova.

I hoped my dad would give someone a stroke or a panic attack or an aneurysm or something, but he was very restrained.

I made them give me a written affirmation that they would give me 48 hours for a mechanical exam, and when I received it, I took my pen and wrote in a sentence assuring that I would receive a 100% return if I brought the truck back for any reason whatsoever. I drew a little line on it and put an X by it, indicating that the appropriate person should sign there, and I sent it back, and it came back to me initialed. I guess they didn’t like that too much, but I suppose they wanted me out of there.

We took the truck to a highly recommended mechanic, and he will have it until tomorrow morning. I had to fill it up on the way. Stupidly, I put a tankful in it. The dealer will get that if the truck fails inspection. I had to use two credit cards to fill it. The station had a $50-per-card limit. But I won’t have to fill it for another 700 miles.

The truck is amazing. It has remarkable acceleration. Because you’re so far off the ground, it’s hard to see how fast you’re going, but when I looked at the speedometer, I realized 50 mph was coming up mighty fast. I had to be careful not to get a ticket. The 3200-RPM redline does not seem to hold it back. I am no truck expert, but I think this thing has SHTF written all over it.

I hope it works out. I would rather hang myself than take it back. You can imagine what it would be like, trying to make them accept it. It will be like trying to put a diaper on a wildcat.

If the paint is the only problem, I’m home free.

I’ll have to see what maintenance it needs. The only diesels I’m familiar with are my dad’s 871s, and they take 40-weight oil. I don’t know if you can put synthetic in a diesel. I should have the brake pads checked, and I think the tires need a rotation. The wheels may need an alignment.

The truck does not have running boards. I thought it did. I suppose I should spring for some. Jumping down from the driver’s seat is already getting old.

Gun rack. I must get a gun rack. My dad did some research the other day, just for fun, and it turns out Florida has no law against openly carrying a long gun, so it may be time to put an assault rifle in my rear window.

I guess the diesel was a good move. The truck flies, and it will haul nearly anything, and the motor should outlast several bodies. Now that I know how good this motor is, I’m surprised everyone doesn’t have one. It’s a $7000 option, I think, but if you’re buying a new $40,000 truck, and you intend to use it like a truck, that’s not a terrible expense.

Now I have a means to take all the crap from my dad’s warehouse and haul it to my church. They will never get around to it. Surely they can use a two-thousand-dollar pile of new cable trays. If not, they can put it out front, and the crackheads will take it to the scrap dealer.

The day has been remarkable in one other regard. As I’ve noted, after a recent fast, I found that I no longer had a problem with gluttony, and that I had increased self-control in some other areas. I had one other positive result. I was less angry at people. This is something that had been driving me nuts. I found that I was irritated with people who had not done anything wrong, and even though it was me feeling this way, I wanted nothing to do with it. I hated it. It was fatiguing. The other positive effects I got from fasting lasted, but this one faded, and it disappointed me. Over the last week or so, I’ve been soul-searching, trying to figure out what I might have been doing wrong, to lose this.

I had several theories, but now I suspect it had something to do with the way I treat my dad. I had been allowing my sister’s situation to affect him too much. I wanted to get out from between them, to avoid taking on too much stress, so there were times when I withdrew. This morning I recalled that my grandfather had died the month after my aunt died from cancer. The cardiologist thought her death had contributed to his, by causing a stress-related ulceration inside a coronary artery. Even if I have to absorb a ton of stress, I can’t let that happen to my dad. After I thought about that and resolved to do better, the peace came back to me. I can’t tell you how great it feels. I hope I’ve found the problem.

Man, I hope that truck works out. I do not want to wade into the den of dissembling tar babies again.

Also

Marv has learned the cell phone walkie-talkie noise. We were watching “Bait Car” on the Tru network last night, and some cop was using a cell phone in walkie-talkie mode, and you know that high-pitched beep they make. One of the beeps seemed to come from the wrong direction, and when I looked in that direction, I saw Marv, looking quite smug. It cracked me up. He kept doing it; Marv knows when he comes across a crowd-pleaser. Now he knows I’ll squeeze him every time he beeps. That’s a problem.