If you ever happen to be 2-1/2 months overdue for an oil change, please – do not try to squeeze in a quick trip to the post office seven days before Christmas. Especially if it’s our post office. And especially if you park up front.

Now, I don’t say this to slight our dear postal service. I say this because it will probably never have occurred to you how exceptionally inconvenient that parking lot can be when it’s approximately fifteen degrees outside, you’re walking around in 2-1/2 inch heels and you’re trying to be towed.

I know because it never occurred to me. Until I drove into the Maple Valley post office last December and took the first open spot I saw – the one right up front, just left of incoming traffic, smack-dab in the middle of Stuckville.

I was focused on getting to work, on the calls and paperwork I had to do that day when I glanced down at my mileage (again) and swore I’d take the truck in for an oil change tomorrow. It was so overdue. I’d been meaning to go. I’d been planning to go. But there were the non-stop parade of Thanksgiving visitors, the pre-holiday parties, the work projects, the client visits, the errands – the everything that fills every day of the season that makes it all but impossible to get to the dealership.

Tomorrow, I’d go. Maybe even today.

But first, I’d mail the cards I spent weeks designing and printing envelopes for, cards that for once, would go out before Christmas. So I grabbed my alphabetized stack of envelopes and dashed into the post office, checking them twice before sliding them into the “Stamped Mail Only” bin.

Turning around, I cinched my wool jacket, slung my purse on my shoulder and headed right back out to the truck. I sat down in the seat, inserted the key, and turned.

*Cl…ick..?*

I raised an eyebrow and turned the key again.

*…*

No click. No dash. The ignition refused any life. So I turned the key backwards.

*CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!*

The gear dash appeared. Then it vanished. I tried it again. Nothing.

“Huh.”

At the risk of offending all my feminist-forebears out there, I will admit right now that I am one of those women. The ones who don’t know how to jump a battery or where to find things like alternators or starters or the button that pops the hood. (Although, I was very proud of myself the summer I got a flat on state Route 169 and not only managed to get it jacked all the way up without any help, I wrenched all the bolts off by cranking the bolt end of my crowbar onto each one and kicking the snot out of it. That is, I got each one off, but the lock-bolt, which after a thorough, expletive-filled search, was found shortly after my husband’s arrival in the trunk of his car.)

Coming to my rescue yet again, my husband left work to come troubleshoot my truck with his tie flipped back and his sleeves rolled up as I sat in the cabin, cranking the ignition again and again. With absolutely no results.

Just one person interrupted their routine long enough to offer us a jump – an extremely nice lady who drove, of all things, an SUV. Although the jump didn’t work, not even a little, I will forever be grateful to her for no other reason than proving it’s not what you drive that makes you a jerk.

After twenty minutes of tinkering, we gave up and called MotorPlex for a tow. On a Monday. During the holidays. They said they’d be there in 45 minutes. They arrived in 10, had me hooked up in five and then had to wait about three and a half days for the post office traffic to give it a rest already and maybe LET THE GINORMOUS TOW TRUCK OUT.

One mile, three days and a new battery later, the guys at MotorPlex had my truck running again in tip-top shape. They were nice, professional and never once made me feel like a dumb woman. Although, I did have to try to keep from choking on a bill for the first time ever when I saw how much a car battery really costs. Mainly because my frame of reference falls somewhere between smoke detectors and laptops.

So, if you ever find yourself stranded in Maple Valley, or specifically, the post office, do yourself a favor. Call the MotorPlex. They’re good guys.

And do your Christmas cards in October.

Reach Jules Maas at jules.maas@gmail.com