"Hey Joe, hand me the 3/16" socket," I mumbled into the underside of my car. I felt a nudge in my ribs as my friend, Joe, handed me the socket I asked for. Matching the ends of the hexagonal shaped socket with the stub on my wrench, I pushed the two together. A loud click signaled the two ends of the socket and wrench fit perfectly. Reluctantly, I went to work tightening the chassis of my car. I felt overwhelmed by the number of lugs I would have to check and tighten. It took me almost a half an hour to completely tighten each bolt and there were still eight more to go. To add to my frustration, the sun was starting to set which forced me to use an inadequate electrical lamp to illuminate my garage at home.
Joe, was working on his own car in the garage space next to mine.
He was inspecting and cleaning the outside of his white 1993 Honda Civic SI. He had a soft cloth in one hand and a spray bottle of wax in the other. The hand with the soft cloth would wipe for ten seconds followed by the "sqshhh sqshhh" of the spray bottle. Always being the meticulous one, he continued his wipe and spray cycle for many hours to make sure his car was immaculate.
As I turned one of the bolts clockwise to tighten it, I felt a sharp, searing pain on the upper portion of my hand. Instinctively, I swore, forgetting all the lessons on good manners my parents had taught me. I brought my hand up to inspect the wound but the darkness of the garage, the setting sun, and the little remaining light my car blocked made it so I couldn't see...