On the weekend, my wife and I motored north into what city people euphemistically call “cottage country.” We ended up at a friend’s cottage south of Sudbury. He’d invited us there to put our feet up at the lake and chill for a couple of days. Suddenly, however, in the middle of the weekend escape, our host faced a problem, an automotive problem, and he immediately got on the phone.
“Hey Rick,” my friend called into the landline phone. “You know that Nissan wagon of mine?”
There was a momentary pause, as I guess Rick, the cottage-country mechanic, went through a mental file of his customers and remembered my friend’s car from the city.
“A bunch of the electrical warning lights are on,” my friend continued. “Can I bring it over?” [more…]