"I think you’re cutting it too close for comfort, Tooner."
Tooner didn’t reply immediately as he set up the finish cut on the rotor spinning on the lathe before him. Flipping the feed lever, he stood back to let the machine do its work. "Nonsense, Beanie; there’s lots of life left in this rotor."
Our young technician shoved a shock of unruly hair out of his eyes. “I’m not talking about the rotor; I mean your wife’s Christmas present. It’s Christmas Eve and you haven’t bought it yet!”
“Relax. Stanley’s Hardware stays open ’til five.” Tooner rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I already got her present all picked out.”
“Stanley’s Hardware?” Beanie groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Tooner shot him an icy glare. “Are you trying to tell me an 8-inch bench vise don’t carry no weight as a Christmas present?”
“Well, you got the weight part right,” I interrupted. “They’re about 80 pounds However, we’ve got heavier issues to discuss, like Clyde Dayle’s car.”
Tooner squinted out the bay door window. “You mean that red Mini Cooper out there? What’s Clyde’s problem?”
“He’s got a growling noise in the front when he turns slightly to the left. I’m guessing it’s a wheel bearing.”
Our grizzled technician rubbed his chin and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Hmm, quarter past four. I got just enough time for a quick test run. Then The Bean here can start the repair while I go shopping.” He winked at me. “Don’t want junior losin’ sleep about the stability of my love life!” With that, he grabbed a seat cover and headed out the door, whistling a warbly Christmas carol as he went.
I looked at Beanie. “There. You feel better now?”
“Well, sort of. But Slim, a bench vise? Is he serious?”
“He is, and Mabel will love it. After 30 years of marriage, they understand each other perfectly. I’ll bet you anything that when Tooner wakes up on Christmas morning, there’ll be a brand new sewing machine waiting for him under the tree.”
The minutes ticked by and when Tooner finally returned, he was as sour as the Grinch. “Put this thing on the hoist, Bean!” he hollered as he skidded into the bay. Getting out of the little car, he slammed the door so hard the rear view mirror fell off. “I don’t know what Clyde’s been putting in his eggnog, but the only thing making growling noises right now is me!”
We sent Beanie upstairs to man the controls as we all gathered underneath the car with our stethoscopes. But no matter what speed or angle the wheels spun at, the drivetrain was quieter than a kid sneaking downstairs to spy on Santa. Tooner eyed the clock again. “Get Clyde out here,” he ordered. “The hardware store closes in 10 minutes!”
I called Clyde out from the waiting room. “Honest, Slim,” he protested, “it does it when I drive. How about Tooner and I go out on the main highway and I’ll show him the exact spot where it happens every time?”
Tooner was sweating bullets now, but he reluctantly agreed. As the duo headed out with Clyde at the wheel, the rest of us cleaned up our tools as visions of a peaceful holiday break danced through our heads. After all, we’d finished our Christmas shopping long ago.
It was just after five o’clock when the front door opened and Tooner entered alone, seat cover slung over his shoulder. “Well, don’t leave us in suspense!” I exclaimed. “What happened? Where’s Clyde? Is he…did you…?”
Tooner waved off my concerns. “Relax; Clyde’s alive. Just feeling a little foolish, that’s all.
“So it wasn’t a wheel bearing?” enquired Basil.
Tooner snickered. “Nope. It turns out our buddy Clyde likes to drive close to the center line. When he turns the wheel slightly to the left, he hits the rumble strips in the middle of the highway. That was the source of his noise!”
Suddenly the mail slot in the front door flipped open and an envelope fell to the floor. When I picked it up, I found $20 inside with a note from Clyde. It read, “Sorry for all the trouble; I feel so stupid! I hope you all have a Merry Christmas… especially Tooner!”
I handed over the money. “Clyde sends his regards, but I’m afraid the stores are all closed by now.”
Tooner shrugged. “Not to worry. I got Plan B.”
At that moment our local tool dealer roared into the parking lot in his big white van. “Merry Christmas, boys!” boomed Big Stan the Tool Man as he came through the front door. “Am I too late? Tooner called on his cell phone and said you had an emergency!”
“Yer right on time, Stan,” said Tooner, draping one arm around the tool dealer’s shoulder and steering him back out to the tool truck. “It’s Christmas shopping time,” he continued, “and I know a little lady who’s got her eye on a certain chrome socket set.”
Basil laughed while Beanie just stared. “Now I get it!” he said. “Instead of trying to figure out what they want, Tooner and his wife just buy their own presents, give them to each other, and then trade.”
I slapped him on the back. “And everybody’s happy, Beanie; just the way it should be. After all, it’s Christmas!”
Rick Cogbill, a freelance writer and former shop owner in Summerland, B.C., has written The Car Side for a variety of trade magazines for the past 14 years. “A Fine Day for a Drive,” his first book based on the characters from this column, is now available for order at thecarside.com.
