A White Girl!

My brother and I attended college on opposite sides of the country. In the winter of '92 a girlfriend and I drove from California to New York to visit. The trip out was wild. The Eastern half of the country was covered in a blinding snowstorm and, at times, we were the only car on the road with the 18 wheelers. In Tennessee we stopped at the first light we'd seen in hours to get something to eat. The news said interstates were being closed and driving should be limited to emergencies. We were in a bar/hotel/restaurant/truckstop and, as the hours passed, I began to feel that hanging out all night with a bunch of drunk, stranded truckers might not be wise. So we drove off into the snow and made it the rest of the way to NY without mishap. The visit was, of course, wonderful. The weather on the trip home was much nicer. At that time I was driving a 1970 Mercedes 240D. I knew a lot about working on my car - if I didn't keep it running, I had no wheels. Somewhere in the middle of New Mexico, I saw another '70s vintage Mercedes broken down on the opposite side of the interstate. Over howls of disbelief and protest from Christine, I slowed down, crossed the median and pulled up behind the other car. I got out to find two brothers and their sister waiting on mechanics from the closest town. Somehow two of the belts on their car had broken. Back then I was the queen of spare parts and happened to have the belts they needed. Just after we arrived, so did the mechanics with SAE tools. The Mercedes engine is completely metric. We sent them home. I donned my coveralls got out my tools and put the belts on the car. When I was done, we all shook hands and the sister said, "I can't wait to tell Momma a white girl fixed your car!" I grinned and wished them well and Christine and I headed back toward California.