His back was starting to ache a bit, but Jack stayed hunched over his workbench, carefully easing his continuity probes down on either side of the tiny resistor. He glanced at his multimeter. The needle stayed dead on zero, indicating an open circuit. Bingo! He straightened up and stretched. A whole afternoon shot because of a ten cent part. Maybe he should consider paying at least a quarter for the next one.
He got up and checked his component bins. It always reminded him a little of going to the candy counter at the drugstore when he was a kid. The capacitors with their bright and shiny colors were the chocolates and hard candies; the resistors with their color-coded bands were the stick candies and mints, and the clear crystal diodes were the rock candy. Snarls of red and black wire trailed everywhere like licorice whips gone feral. Jack rummaged in the resistor bin until he came up with a likely one—the right ohmage and twice the amperage of its dead cousin. He started to take it back to his bench when something else registered. That really was a peppermint in the resistor bin. He took it out, sniffed it suspiciously, then unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.
Not bad.
He tossed the resistor onto his bench. "Well, I know an omen," he told it, speaking around the peppermint, "and this one means to go home before anything bad spoils it. You can wait."
He whistled a few bars of "Georgy Girl" as he made a final survey of the lab, grabbing a sheaf of papers that caught his eye, then turned off the lights and closed the door. Most of the other doors were already dark, and he checked his watch in surprise. Six-thirty—and it was Friday. He wasn't really taking off early at all. He grinned. Well, it was earlier than if he hadn't had his omen.
Jack jogged down the stairs to the first floor, and out into the parking lot. The sun was still peeking up over the trees, and purple martins were out, darting to and fro, and picking bugs out of the evening air like kids picking pepperoni off a pizza. He glanced back at the Celestial building. It looked like the light was still on in Rhea's office. Maybe he could go back up and see if she wanted to go see a movie. She'd said once that she really liked Disney, and the new animated Dante was supposed to be a riot.
Nah, better not. It would be nice to see a movie with someone for a change, but that'd be like sucking up to the boss. She probably had someone she went out with, anyway. Maybe that Roberts guy. The Mercedes in the parking lot didn't look familiar, so he must still be up there with her. Hope I didn't screw things up for Rhea's funding with that little encounter, Jack thought.
He had to admit it would be nice to get out sometime. He hadn't had much luck since breaking up with Carol. If anyone could call that luck. He still couldn't believe how stupid he'd been.
He got into his car and turned the key. The ignition gave a slight click, but the engine didn't turn over. Jack loved his Camry, but he had to admit that after four hundred fifty thousand miles and fifteen years, maybe, just maybe, it was starting to lose a little zip. He took a small ballpeen hammer from the toolbox in the trunk, and opened the hood. He aimed carefully, and brought the hammer down in a small precise arc against the side of the starter, then closed the hood and put the hammer away confidently. This time, the car started immediately. Plenty of life in the old girl yet. As he rolled out onto Cornwallis Road, he mentally itemized a bill.
Hitting car with hammer: $1.00.
Knowing where to hit: $99.00.
With the tape player blaring out the Globetrotters' "Rainy Day Bells," Jack rode off into the sunset.