I know that you're probably expecting some querulous harangue in this week's column, but if you are, prepare to be relieved. Instead, I give you a paean to those unsung heroes of Dartmouth College: the Troubleshooters.
Yes, the Troubleshooters, those men and women in green coats who call that building behind New Hamp their home. I don't know much about them, these perceivers of student adversity, these seekers of collegiate distress, but I do know that on a Saturday night not too long ago one of these fine individuals saved my splotchy skin, or more accurately, my car's splotchy skin.
Let's set the scene, shall we? It was a dark and stormy night, although it wasn't raining and it was still light out ... but anyway. I had parked my sleek gray Camry station wagon outside my dorm (New Hamp, as luck would have it), having undertaken to transport some Grand Union groceries into my dorm room (Fun!). I left my blinkers on, because if there's one thing I believe in, it's avoiding parking tickets (there's a political conviction for you).
Somehow I got distracted while in my room, engaged in the solemn unloading of the groceries -- perhaps it was that colorful new screen saver of mine. At any rate, I forgot about my car for, oh, three hours or so.
By the time I came to my senses and remembered my poor Camry the battery had gone dead. I panicked. I jumped up and down and yelled "No fair!" over and over again, but the battery remained dead. Then I calmed down and smoked a cigarette, but this, too, had no effect on the state of my battery. I was puzzled.
Suddenly an idea smacked my brain like the fuselage of a 747. I ran upstairs and called a friend.
"What's the matter, Sam?" she said, immediately detecting the craven fear in my voice.
"Muh-muh-muh-my battery's dead!" I burst into tears.
"I'll be right there." She hung up the phone and quicker than you can say "complete overreaction" arrived on the scene in her pontoon-like Chevy Blazer. She had already whipped out the jumper cables and was discussing whether the red or black went with the positive when we encountered our first problem.
"I don't know how to open the hood," I whimpered.
Well, I may be the Supreme Automotive Idiot of Hanover, or the Western World, for that matter, but my friend was not -- nay, she was as resourceful as the Queechee Gorge. With a deft flick of her hand she opened the hood, and everything was proceeding apace when our vision was consumed by two blaring headlights.
"What seems to be the problem?" a gruff but friendly voice asked.
It was the Troubleshooter. Like an angel of mercy he appeared before us, holy, miraculous, bathed in white light (well, bathed in headlight, but let's not quibble).
Immediately the Troubleshooter and my dear friend were engaged in mirthful discourse about jumper cables and the twisty-ties they come with -- I won't bore you with the details (also I can't remember them). Suffice to say they set to the task like Branch Davidians at a barbecue.
My job was to sit in the car. It may sound like they just stuck me there to stay out of the way, but keep in mind, somebody had to be prepared to start the car, otherwise we'd never know if the battery was up and running, now would we? You bet.
"Give it a try," the glorious Troubleshooter called to me after about five or fifty minutes of charging.
I reached my hand toward the key. My heart was in my throat, my brow was slick with sweat, my glands were all saucy. "This is it," I thought (I'm a pretty deep thinker, as thinkers go).
I turned the key.
"Vroom!" my car bellowed gleefully.
My friend high-fived the Troubleshooter, and the two of them removed the jumper cables, restoring them to their metallic boxy home.
"You're the avatar of beneficence!" I shouted to the Troubleshooter.
My friend backed her car out and the Troubleshooter was on his way, disappearing in a cloudy puff of misty cloudiness. My friend and I made plans for dinner, and the universe was in harmony once more.
So that's my story, kids. Let us give thanks to all the wondrous Troubleshooters of Dartmouth. They are a blessing unto us all.
