My father and his brother, Wendell, were partners in an automotive garage and car dealership called Phillips Auto Sales when I was a child. Wendell was a top-notch car salesman, honest and fair, and people came from all over PEI to buy vehicles from him. My father wasn’t really involved in the daily operation of the business as he had a general store to run, but after my parents sold their store in 1971, he did do things like drive to Summerside to get parts. Sometimes in the summer I would join him, enticed by the promise of an ice cream cone.
I still don’t know why I went with my father as they were long, boring trips involving endless hours sitting in the car outside garages and parts stores, staring out the window, or reading a book if I remembered to take one. I would sometimes go in with him and listen to talk about springs and rims and spark plugs, and that was even worse. On the way home after one of these bore fests I would promise myself I would never, ever go again, only to find myself on the road to Summerside a couple of weeks later.
My father always liked company while he did things, and I did learn a lot by holding the end of pieces of wood while he sawed or baiting lobster traps when he went out fishing. I have no idea what I learned from those parts runs, though, except that I hated parts runs.
Steven and I stopped for supper yesterday at G & T Book Cafe in Summerside, a friendly Vietnamese restaurant that happens to be located in the old Provincial Auto Parts building on Spring Street.. When I turned off my car, I realized I was parked in more or less the same spot as I had been 53ish years prior during the most memorable (but not for a good reason) trip I took to Summerside with my father.
Seven-year-old me was yet again sitting and waiting. My father had turned the car off but left the key in the ignition. Once he was gone, I turned the key slightly to the position that allowed the radio to function. After what seemed like three eternities, I turned my attention to the gear selector that was mounted on the steering column. I had never touched it before and knew I probably shouldn’t, but as the car wasn’t running, what could be the harm?
With beginner’s luck, I yanked the lever and it landed on neutral, allowing the car to start rolling very slowly backward down the little incline next to the store. Alarmed but unable to put the lever back up into park, I sat frozen as the car continued to roll across Foundry Street and gently bumped into a building and stopped. Someone in the auto parts place saw what happened and my father rushed out.
To my credit I didn’t cry, and to his credit, he didn’t yell. He was certainly cross but knew it was his fault and the outcome could have been worse. As car bumpers were metal and rubber then, there was no harm done to the car, and the building I hit is still standing and probably had lots of bumps before and after. I doubt if ice cream was on offer after that, though.
After supper yesterday, for old time’s sake, I started my 2020 Bolt EV and put the electronic shifter into neutral, something I’d never had any reason to do before. The car slowly rolled backward, but this time I gently pressed the brake and saved the day.
