I had car trouble yesterday on my way to a signing in Door County. I was tooling along at 70 in the pouring rain, when all of the sudden there was some catastrophic electronic failure. Every dire warning sign flicked on the dashboard. I lost my brakes, I lost my power steering, and the engine began to buck. Fortunately, I was close to an exit in civilization-which for our purposes here means a place with a Mazda dealer only a few miles away–and was able to coast and manhandle the car down a ramp, through a roundabout, and into the parking lot of a minimart.
I hate roundabouts. I mean, I hated them before, but in this case it was lucky I didn’t have to stop. I could just keep coasting.
When I pulled up next to the building out of the way, all the lights in the dashboard went out, and I couldn’t turn off the engine. I had to go inside to figure out where I was so I could tell the tow truck where to come, and normally one doesn’t leave a running car unattended. But what the hell, I thought. It’s not as if anyone could drive it away.
None of this is the point of the story, but I kind of wanted to tell it.
The tow truck showed up in about ten minutes, to my surprise and relief. We were going to be cutting it a little close for me to get to my event, and I was having a hard time figuring out how to explain to the bookstore proprietor–my friend, Peter–that all his planning was going to be for an author-less book signing. I called my husband, who was speeding in my direction to rescue me, and told him he could go back.
Anyway–and now we’re getting to the nub of the thing–the tow truck driver was this young, blond guy with lots of tattoos. He was a kind of classic Wisconsin small town guy, complete with the rural accent: decent, trustworthy, competent, grease on his clothes, dirt under his nails. He hooked up my car, and I climbed into the cab of the truck for the ride to the (mercifully) open car dealer who would loan me a car.
I told him that I was in a bit of a hurry, because there was an event I had to be at. What kind of event? he wanted to know. So I told him I was a writer.
“I love books!” he said. “Harry Potter is my favorite, as you can probably tell by these.” He raised his left arm to indicate his tattoos, which I couldn’t really see, but which must have been representative of this passion. “I listen mostly to audio books, though.” He fumbled in his pocket to get out his I-phone while I hoped that he was looking at the highway. “I’ve listened to…” he looked down at his phone to check the exact figure…”two months and two and a half weeks worth of books this year so far.” He then proceeded to talk about his favorites: after Harry Potter, a series of World War I historical novels by Ken Follet, and some other series in a similar vein. He was knowledgeable about history, and he clearly loved stories of heroism and mysticism. He wanted to know if my books were on audio. I told him not yet, but that we were working on it.
“I read paper books, too,” he said. “But with all the driving around, I do mostly audio.” I kind of doubt that my books are his kind of thing, but so far all my assumptions were being proved false. “Would you like a copy of my book?” I asked. He was enthusiastic.
We got to the dealer, and I dug out a copy of each of my books and signed them for him. We shook hands.
I love thinking about this tow truck driver, wandering around the country roads of Wisconsin, doing this necessary but unglamorous job, the rhythms of different authorial voices accompanying his travels, moved by the heroic acts of protagonists both real and imagined. Along what path will these values take him? How will these stories affect his life and the lives of others? From the seemingly mundane heroism of helping people with broken cars to some other, more dramatic form? Or is it these small daily rescues that give his path meaning?
Maybe he thinks about these things. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just a job to him, not a mission. But the meanings of our lives may be things we never realize until we’re looking back. Or they could be things we’ll never know.
People are always more interesting than you think.
10 thoughts on “Not Judging Books by Their Covers”
As someone who has worked in bookstores for over 30 years I learned not judge a book by its cover long ago
This is wonderful. Thank you for this poignant post. So glad you were/are safe.
Thank you. Me, too! In many ways I was very lucky.
From reading this, I think your books would be lovely as audio books.Have you looked at books in Motion? As a sister writer who also had to be towed (and I did miss my event), I loved your discoveries in the midst of unexpected trials. But that’s often where they show up the most vividly. I shared your post on Facebook. It’ll make someone else’s day!
Thank you for the suggestion. I’m sorry you missed your event–it’s always in the back of your mind, isn’t it? I appreciate your kind words!
Coming out of the event on Saturday night, I noticed the loaner car in the lot and actually wondered if you had experienced a car problem on the way up. So glad you were able to get there in spite of that challenge. We really enjoyed meeting you and having the opportunity to chat. All the best with your newest endeavor,
Kevin & Jacci
It was great meeting you both. Thank you for coming.
Sounds like he belongs to House Hufflepuff.
I bet he’d love Horgan’s A Distant Trumpet.
I had a similar experience… on my way home on a Friday late afternoon my 1 year old car decided to have a catastrophic engine failure near Black River Falls, approximately 200 miles from home. My tow guy was also a mechanic. Gave me a free borrowed car to get home in until he could bring my car down on Monday. I left a note and cookies on the seat as a thank you. (Tow bill was $1200 but whatever, my car got home) Big towns need more small town mentality and generosity. Maybe we wouldn’t have so many issues then.
I enjoyed this very much, J.F. Pondering meaningfulness in the mundane can be so rewarding. 🙂