No Expectations

Nineteen without a clue and nothing to do…
December 1973

We were coffee shop prowlers. No girlfriends, no job, no money, too much time on our hands. We called it guttering around. Nineteen without a clue and nothing to do but bother the waitress and argue later about which of us she liked better. Pestering waitresses we called Brandoizing, after some scene in a forgotten movie in which Marlon Brando hectored some woman mercilessly. If we weren’t driving somewhere we were stuck at either my house or his playing records, debating whether the Stones were better than the Beatles. It was certainly irrefutable that the current Stones were better than any current solo efforts from the Beatles, or was it? You get the idea. So we’d go guttering around to coffee shops in North Hollywood while “Got no expectations” played in my head.
One dark afternoon I drove the one block to go pick him up. I called Lenny “Stonehawker” after a name we heard at Valley Junior College that made him laugh out loud. Sometimes we would change it and try and make it funnier: Stonekiller; Stonehawkerstein. Anything to fill dead air. The rain gushed down as rolled south on Florence Street, but by the time we got to Oak Street, I couldn’t steer the car very well. I had a flat. I parked the car and we got out, laughing at each other. We knew nothing about cars. Lenny suggested I spit on the radiator as I went to open the trunk to look for the jack.
“Hey, Jack. Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Stonehawer, let me ask you this: How hard could it be?”
“Yeah, right. Just spit on the radiator and we’ll be on our way.”
For about five minutes I examined different tire changing parts, attempted to remove the hubcap and attempted to determine where exactly the jack should go. Lenny stared at me passively, occasionally shaking his head in ironic paternal disapproval. I decided it was time for plan b.
“Let’s go get your dad”
“What for?”
“He’ll know how to change a tire”
“What about your dad?”
“He won’t come out in the rain”
“And mine will?”
“Yeah. It beats standing here.”
We found Mr. Saragossi lying on the living room floor watching a football game. I explained our dilemma while he stared at the screen longingly. Eventually, he got up and got his coat and cap. The three of us walked the block in the rain. My clothes were nearly squishy by that point. I opened the trunk and found the stuff I had tossed in, took them out and waited for the senior supervisor of our project to take over. He stared at the parts and scratched his head.
“Well, Jackson, go ahead”
“Well, I don’t know how to…”
“What?? You don’t know to change a tire?”
“That’s why we got you!”
“Well I don’t know either!”
Lenny started laughing. He stood with his hands in his pockets while his dad stood rubbing his forehead as if a genie were about to pop out of his head with the solution. I proceeded to plan c. The rain was pushing me to take desperate measures.
I knocked on the door of the house where my car was parked. A middle aged man stood at the door staring at me.
“Hey, how you doin?” I said, figuring it would be nice to make a little conversation before revealing the plan to him.
“Yeah?” he replied coldly.
“Well we got a flat here, and I was wondering whether you could help us.”
“A flat huh?” He looked at the car, the jack, the tire iron and the two other fully-grown men.
“Yeah. You know, we just need a little help.”
It took him about 10 minutes to change the tire. Might have been done in less time but he would occasionally stop and look at us. Lenny, his dad and I stood and watched in humbled, embarrassed admiration. I had no money to offer the man in exchange for his favor. I considered reaching for my wallet until he humbly stopped me, but didn’t want to take the chance that the man didn’t know the proper response. We dropped Lenny’s dad off and headed for North Hollywood with the tire rumbling around in the trunk. I don’t know when or how I eventually learned to change a tire. I had to learn that I needed to learn first. For the moment though the windshield wipers kept time, “I’ve got no expectations/ to pass through here again.”