It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in July when my reverse lights decided to betray me. I had just backed into a fire hydrant—a brand-new, screaming-yellow fire hydrant—right in front of my neighbor, Mrs. Gable, who was watering her petunias. She didn’t say a word. She just shook her head slowly, like a disappointed grandmother who had seen generations of poor choices.
The End.
“You fixed it,” she said, not a question. autozone backup cameras
A week later, I was backing into a tight spot at the grocery store when an old man in a Cadillac nearly T-boned me. My camera caught it all—the shine of his bumper, the horror on his face. I honked. He swerved. Crisis averted. It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon in July
That was the last straw for my 2008 Ford Explorer, a truck with more rust than dignity. She didn’t say a word
“AutoZone,” I muttered, peeling a sticky note off my fridge where my wife had written: Fix the backup situation. Or else.