Waiting For The Engine Guy

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Engine guys - you can't live with them, you can't live without them.

They've got you by the fuel injectors and they know it. I spent most of Friday waiting for the engine guy.

I think Einstein first got the idea for relativity - you know, everyone's watch gets out of synch just by travelling around the universe - because he was waiting for a diesel mechanic to show up.

Night before: "I'll be there first thing - 9:30 AM.......or 10"

11:15 AM: "I'm on my way"

12:30 PM: "Headed there now, 10 minutes away"

1:15 PM: "I'm at the gate now."

At no point does he make reference to any of the previous conversations we've been having about when he was going to show up.

I think in the engine guy's decelerated frame of reference, his watch really does say he has arrived at 9:30 am. Einstein probably had equations that would have predicted that.

But, there's another kind of time shift at work here that makes everything come out even. Physicists will tell you things have to work out right for observers in any frame of reference, or a theory falls apart.

Ordinarily, waiting at home for the plumber or roof guy to show up, I would be bouncing off the walls waiting that long. But waiting for the engine guy is different. I'm at the marina. On the boat. Time is moving a lot slower for me, too.

I can wander around the docks all day long and find stuff to do that makes time disappear.

What's that ancient wooden tugboat doing circling over by the boatyard ramp? I've never seen that around here before. Ten minutes gone.

Uh-oh, a monster piece of driftwood is floating down the fairway, just at the surface. Someone could bend a prop backing into that. Better wait for it to get to somewhere where I can reach, so I can fish it out.  Fifteen minutes gone.

I think I'll walk down to the office and ask about that slip that looks like the previous tenant has left. Maybe I'll move my boat over there. It's easier to get in and out of than mine. But, wait, it looks narrower than my slip. Better measure it. Where did I leave my tape measure? A half hour gone.

There's my dockmate who wants to talk about how my varnish job is holding up. And she just varnished the gunnels of her Whitehall rowing boat. Do I want to check it out? Well, it's a Whitehall, and they're cool. Sure. Forty-five minutes gone.

This stuff must be part of some universal field theory. As soon as one thing passes by, something else I must check out comes along, and there goes another 15 minutes, a half hour, an hour.

The engine guy finally shows up at 1:30 - according to my watch. Am I pissed? Not at all.

On O Dock, I've had a busy morning, too.

The universe is in perfect balance.

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