Also Somewhere Near South Dakota

So there I was, spinning out of control as I pumped the brakes to no avail, about to hit a big old elm, and all I could think was: What is the definition of Quality? Okay, fine, I wasn't actually thinking of strange philosophical definitions, but Quality certainly had something to do with why I was careening toward what looked like a misshapen ent with an iron deficiency that my Buick was about to solve.

Let's back up a moment. It started when my brakes stopped catching so well. They still worked; I just really had to stomp to get them to work. Also, I really wanted a burrito. This led me to stop in some town in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota that happened to have a mechanic, and, more importantly, a Mexican place. Thus sated, I pulled the old Buick into the mechanic's garage. It was a dingy, grey sort of place, the kind of place that would give you chronic depression if you stayed too long. The actual employees were all busy working on someone's F150 (either that or taking their dose of Xanax necessitated by just how dismal this garage was), but luckily there was some dude and his kid working on their motorcycle. I asked them for help -- hey, maybe I wouldn't have to pay the mechanic's crazy fees after all. Besides, cars are pretty much the same thing as motorcycles, right?

It turns out that they are -- depending on how you define it. The man, Phaedrus, had to lecture me about oneness, zen, the difference between classicism and romanticism, and all sorts of mumbo jumbo as he worked. It turns out I had a small leak in my brake line.  Of course, he couldn't just say so -- instead, he had to use it as a convoluted metaphor about Quality, and how it represents some sort of way to reconcile technology and humanity in the modern world. He ended up patching my line with a spot of old rubber and a lot of duct tape, then sent me on my merry way. I think it was this patch that ultimately failed, sending my brakes to Tartarus (he was big on the Greek stuff) and me toward a tree.

So yes, I most certainly blame Quality for the fact that my car was about to do a facehugger impression around the elm's trunk. I was all set to go with Quantity next time when at last the brakes caught, my prayers to live to see another burrito were cut off, and I crashed to a stop an inch in front of the tree.