
A parable about time management:
Well. first of all, I had plenty of warning. A few months ago, when I tried to start my Toyota pickup, the starter clicked and nothing happened. A few more clicks, and it started, so I passed it off as a dying battery. The next day, it clicked again, so I went to Wal-Mart and bought a battery, and as soon as I installed it, the click continued.
However, the truck always eventually started, and I even joked that one day, I would pay for my indifference. Of course, I was right. One cold morning, the truck started, but the starter did not disengage. I turned of the engine, and the starter churned away until I finally found a wrench and disconnected the battery. It took a while, and the unmistakable smell of ozone emanated from red hot wiring under the hood.
Had I not waited, I could have driven the truck up on ramps, and had a little clearance to crawl underneath to attempt to remove the starter. And since I had to disable the battery, the truck will not release from Park, so I have to fix it where it died. Outside, in the cold, on a slight downslope.
Not to mention, the starter is nearly impossible to see, let alone remove. I continued to squeeze under the truck, crooking my neck in a most uncomfortable position, and attempt to find the starter bolts by feeling for them, then attempting to work a wrench in there somehow. Of course, the tight clearance caused numerous cuts and scratched on my hands. My neck and shoulders started killing me, and all of a sudden, the onset of vertigo crippled me. I was dizzy and nauseated.
Fortunately, I found some narcotics prescribed for my torn biceps, (wonder if that's why my arm hurt breaking that bolt loose?) and now I am not in total agony. But the job is only half done, and I know I must eventually drag myself back under the truck, and attempt to get the job done. The dread is overwhelming me!
So what's the lesson here? Had I driven the truck to a mechanic the first time it clicked, I would have spared myself a lot of torture and injury, and I would have the use of the truck today. Mechanics certainly earn their money, and in hindsight, I would have been happy to pay to have a professional get my truck in running condition. After all, they have families to feed too, and it's not an easy job.
But I thought that I'd save a few bucks, and essentially forgot that a 50 something guy might have a problem dealing with something he doesn't do every day. I guess I learned from this experience. My time is too valuable to be spent doing tasks that I cannot perform efficiently!
Did I mention that the reason I tore my biceps was to save a $35 furniture delivery fee?
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