Coyote Calling

	MENSIGHT Magazine
		COYOTE CALLING
	A continuing series of stories & commentary by Coyote.

SPONSOR

Syndicated
careers columnist
Dr. Marty Nemko
offers open public
access to his
archive of
career advice:

How Do I Become
a Sponsor?

COYOTE ARCHIVE

Dick Prosapio aka, Coyote is a member of the TMC Advisory Council, ceremonialist, psycho-
therapist (ret.), author, leader of men's experiential workshops, & Co-founder of The Foundation for Common Sense. He lives with his wife and daughter in Stanley, NM

For more info about Dick Prosapio, visit his web-site:
Spirit/ Earth Path

Symore's Garage
by
Dick Prosapio © 2002

The Austin, Texas psychic fair was the worst I'd ever done. The first day I did about five readings and they went well, as usual. The second day I did nothing. Not one person stopped at my table. Maybe it was my deodorant. Maybe my shirt blended in with the carpet. Maybe, as Elizabeth had heard from another reader, the guy across from me was "zapping (me) with negative energy."

If he was he must have been getting a feedback from his "zapper".he didn't get any business either. Frankly, I didn't feel badly about it, Elizabeth had been busy both days and I had won a $50 "door prize" on the day of the Big Zero. The first time I've won anything I can remember.

We packed up and began our journey to San Antonio to pick up the kids who were staying with Elizabeth's brother. We were turning off highway 290 onto 281 in a light drizzle of rain when the truck died.

It didn't sputter. It didn't cough. It just quit. One look under the hood told me we were in trouble. It looked just fine.

We were a couple of miles outside of Johnson City, not much of a "city", just a grandiose town, the birthplace of LBJ. About five miles further south was not much more of a town; Blanco. We decided, and blessed the creators of the cell phone, to call information in Johnson City and try for a tow truck to............somewhere. Our worst fantasy, we would have to go all the way to San Antonio to find anyone who could work on a Toyota T-100 in this Ford/Chevy/Dodge part of the country.

Just as Elizabeth dialed, a truck pulled up. I related our tale of woe and he said; "There's a guy in Blanco who knows how to work on these things......(he was driving a Ford diesel and I've noted over the years that anyone driving a Detroit product will call everything else a "thing") I'll see if I have his number."

In about twenty minutes we were hitched to a tow truck from "Seymore's Garage" and headed for Blanco. As we drove I mentally listed my worst fears, 1. It's the fuel pump again (for the third time) and this involves draining and dropping the tank and then going to San Antonio for a pump..could be $400+! IF this place can even do the job. 2. We'll be spending many days exploring Blanco while a self taught shade tree mechanic in a one stall garage whose expertise is limited to Big Three iron, tries and fails to find the problemday after day after very long day. While the tab is running. Or 3. This mechanic will wince when he sees my "thing" and we will have to make the long (60 mile) journey to a San Antonio Toyota dealer.who, of course, will be closed until after the holiday weekend. (This all took place a few days before the 4th of July.)

But Seymore's Garage turned out to have six stalls and three mechanics! only one of whom resembled the guy in my nightmare scenario. An hour and a half later the three of them, working together, had traced and found the short in the rats nest of wires under the fuse box and by-passed it. We were back on the road for a few dollars over 200.and, just like any good screen play, the heroic problem solver who finally found the problem was, wait for the drum roll here; the shade-tree guy.

There's no lesson here.............well, maybe the usual one for me, that my worst fantasy is always much worse than the reality.......so far at least. Other than that I just want to say, if you ever break down anywhere around Johnson City, get to Seymore's Garage and ask for the "shade tree" guy. What's he look like? He's the guy who isn't wearing the mechanics uniform, sports a hat that has been walked on by way too many cows, and just needs a piece of straw in his mouth to make the picture complete. A fool would think he's just a hill country red neck. That would be a major mistake in judgement.