He put the problem to his Dad to see what his take on the situation was. Perhaps his father would attribute it to the fates, to an evil spirit inhabiting his car or a sinister Russian plot.
After considering the problem, my future father-in-law gave his verdict.
"Don't go to Burger King."
I was reminded of this a few Sundays ago when I was heading across town to meet our son for breakfast. About halfway there, my tire malfunction light came on. This has happened in the past when the weather changes, but it still kind of freaks me out. When I arrived at First Watch for our breakfast rendezvous, Joe assured me everything was fine, reminding me that I was the one who told him about this snafu with the tire light. Nevertheless, he checked all four tires to ensure they were inflated properly. They were.
Fast forward three weeks, and once again I'm making the trek across town to the east side. Once again, the light comes on. This time, it remains on until I'm heading home, just about the point in time when I cross the border from the east to the west side.
When I arrived home, I shared the phenomenon with Mr. Ginley.
He pondered my situation carefully and made his determination.
"From now on, have Joe come to the west side to have breakfast," he declared.
In the immortal words of Elvis (along with a hefty helping of sarcasm), "Thank you. Thank you very much."
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