White Sneakers in a Blue Pontiac

My mechanic drove over in my car to pick me up so I could pay him back at his shop. When I got in the car I saw a lottery ticket on the floor. "Is that yours?" he asked me.

"No is it yours? I don't play because I'm afraid I will win," I said. "Is it a winning ticket?" I laughed.

We drove back to Sam's shop and I paid him for the the muffler repair, sub-contracted body work, and the inspection. When I got in the car I noticed candy wrappers on the floor and dried orange candy stuck to the passenger seat. Then I noticed the gas tank was empty. It was full when I had brought it in. Must've been the body shop guy. Not Sam, definitely not his candy, he's Mr Healthy Athlete.

When I got home I examined my "new" 2009 PONTIAC and the body work, and thought to check the trunk. There were white sneakers inside. I texted Sam. "I think your body shop guy left sneakers in the car."

"Okay thanks I'll ask him. Yes can you place them in a bag and leave it in the driveway, I'll swing by to get them later."

"I will save them inside the back foyer instead so they won't get stolen."

I pictured a bunch of young guys joy-riding in my car, or maybe one guy drove to NYC to see his girlfriend. The tires were all caked with mud. Maybe he drove through a swamp. Who knows.

My heart was racing and I was spooked. My new car had been man-handled by a stranger who drove 350 miles in 2 weeks of rebuilding the rocker panels. I wanted my first meeting with old Bessie the Boat to be lovely. I went inside and wrote a friend. "I'm scared!, I'm spooked!"

A voice inside said just go swim. The car is a tool for the pool. Go swim and figure it all out later. I had to look up how to adjust the vertical position of the seat. It was tilted back, the way guys like to drive, positioning themselves toward the center of the car and straight-arming the steering wheel. I googled how to adjust the seat on a 2009 Pontiac G6, and successfully pulled the lever adjusting the seat. Okay I feel a little better.

I packed my swim bag, found the classical station on the car radio, and headed out to Forge Park to swim. It was good advice.

When I came home my neighbor was outside. I told him the story of the sneakers and the gas. He said that's bad! Then my husband arrived and I told him. After dinner we composed a long text to our mechanic to let him know about his auto body guy's actions. Sam apologized, and when he showed up for the sneakers he apologized again and handed me cash for the gas his sub-contractor had used. "I'll just subtract it from the next bill he gives me," he said.

I told him I love the car and have named her Mercedes. He smiled with a big grin.