master guide power steering™

master guide power steering™, originally uploaded by pr9000.

Given Amina's current condition, traveling anywhere by car can be a chore. First we have to get her down the stairs in the garage, which isn't that hard – it's more worrisome, because it involves hopping on the good foot (James Brown!) while she supports her weight on me. Once we're on the ground level, we walker over to the car, and then she contorts herself into the front seat, always being careful not to bump her foot on the door or the dash. It's almost like watching a gymnast navigate the beam, or one of those tall cranes swinging parts of a skyscraper around.

The problem is that, because the knee does not bend whatsoever, the car door must provide a lot of clearance – it's got to open wide. Our little SUV-type vehicle is a four-door, and the doors don't open very wide. But the convertible almost opens 90 degrees, so that's the vehicle of choice when we need to go somewhere.

After I get her into the front seat safely, I put a blanket over what passes for our back seat, and then gently lift the wheelchair into the back ... the trunk, you see, is too small for the chair. And once it's in the back seat, the top must stay down, because, again, the chair is too tall.

It's probably a pretty absurd sight – a luxury convertible with a folded wheelchair, gently surrounded by a hospital blanket, sticking up from behind the occupants. Not exactly a commercial, but it gets the job done, which is a testament to the vehicle itself.

I say all this to relate that, after getting home from yet another doctor's appointment Thursday, I left the keys in the ignition in my scramble to help Amina back into the house. By the time I realized it – late Saturday evening – the battery was dead. So dead, in fact, that this model car does not allow the ignition to turn.

My first thought: let's jump the car! My second thought: Where in the hell is the battery? Is it in the trunk? Let's check ... oh, wait: yet another feature of a dead battery – trunk is locked. And can only be opened by the key fob or a button on the driver's side door, both of which aren't operating because the battery's dead.

But come on, I think. This is a car! They're all the same! Until I realized that it's made in Germany, which means it's going to be (1) ruthlessly efficient and (2) more complex than necessary. I could poke around under the hood, but I'd rather know the exact details before I send volts of electricity surging through what might be the air conditioner or radiator or spare tire.

Mistakes cost money.

So I called the dealer, and was lucky to get them right before they closed. Service, though, had left two hours ago so they patched me to the Roadside Assistance center. After getting a few details and hearing my lamentations, they sent someone out to give me a jump.

This goes against every Man Law imaginable. I have jumper cables. I have another vehicle. I have testicles. I can do this. But no, the friendly woman on the other end of the phone purred, they'd have to send someone out.

And they did. Not some dude from the local garage, but a certified service expert. Matt was very nice, very helpful and he jump-started the car for me. It was exactly as I thought it would be -- red to positive, black to some large chunk of metal – and, really, it was a dream. I can call any time of day or night and they'll send someone to help change a flat, fill an empty gas tank, jump-start the car ... and it's nothing I have to pay for. I get it simply because I'm privileged to own this fine automobile.

Not good for the manly ego, but I'll take what help I can get.