Nothing’s Broken, It’s Just Mayonnaise

Every time he put on the brakes he heard it. Thump, thump, thump. When he took off, it thumped again. This went on for several days. Sometimes it stops for a while, but then it resumes. Thump, thump, thump… thump.

He looked up under the chassis of his truck, where the noise was coming from, but there was no sign of anything. In fact, there WASN’T much of anything there, it was just behind the left front wheel. He thought maybe a torn mudflap or maybe a tire that was balding, though that didn’t quite sound right either. It doesn’t sound like the tie rod, but he’s worried that it might be something serious he knows nothing about and can’t SEE.

He’s a tough and independent guy. He doesn’t pay someone else for what he can do himself – only lately he is making enough money in his business that he doesn’t really have the TIME to do certain things. And he drives a lot of rough roads, often in isolated and lonely places, so that truck he drives just can’t be heading for a breakdown. He depends on it.

He finally takes it in. One morning on the way to work, very early, he notices that the VW shop (a guy he respects) is opened already. So he stops on impulse and finds the owner is in early. He asks him to take a look and see if he can find the cause of that noise.

The mechanic looks and looks. He can find nothing. The truck is up on the lift, and he’s searching hard, scratching his head every so often. He has test drove it already, he knows where the sound is. But nothing is there.

He takes it out again. He drives it around the block, starting and stopping, hurky jerky and spastic. He comes back around and he’s driving smooth and grinning.

The mechanic stops the truck right by where the man is waiting outside for it to come back. He gets out, and dives the top half of his body back into the car, his arm outstretched, feeling under the driver’s seat. He grasps something and triumphantly pulls it out and holds it up.

“Next time, take the mayonnaise jar out!” he says.

You see, the man fixes his lunch in the truck every day. He takes his food with him, but he often eats bread and meat with mayonnaise – not really a sandwich, just almost. And he often uses mayonnaise instead of butter. Just something he became accustomed to when he could afford mayonnaise and not butter.

One day about a year earlier, his mayonnaise jar disappeared during lunch. He could not find it to put it away. Figured it had probably fallen and rolled under the seat, no idea which side, and he’s busy getting ready to get back to work so he forgets. Gets a new jar and the old one ceases to exist.

Eventually it breaks loose. It’s got old mayo in there, and it rolls back and forth under the seat… Thump, thump, thump. Sometimes it gets jammed again and quits. Then it breaks loose again on it’s reign of terror… Thump, thump, thump… and sometimes Thump.

This is a cautionary tale in my family. Sometimes it is used metaphorically. “Nothing is wrong, it is probably just a mayonnaise jar.”

It never really IS anymore. Because we aren’t loggers, and we don’t fix our lunches in our cars. Except Dale. He might. But he’s up to speed on mayonnaise jars, so you can’t catch him with that one.