Yesterday during our trip to town, Claire picked up a package that was waiting for her at the hardware. (Yes, if you live in the boonies and you want a Fedex delivery, you have to go to the hardware to pick it up. The UPS driver delivers, but only if he knows you.)
As we had hoped, the package contained a bracket to replace the one on one of her running boards that had inexplicably broken in half. I was on pins and needles to learn whether it was the right one, because I'd gotten her the part number.
Getting the part number required a trip down memory lane. She's got a service manual on DVD, but service manuals don't generally give part numbers. For a moment I was actually stumped - if I can't squeeze the information out of my 'pooter, what can I do?
Ah! Take it old school.
I rummaged around on my bookshelf till I found an ancient contrivance known as a "telephone book." I found a "telephone number" for an auto dealership in a city about 200 miles away, called the number, contacted a "person," and spoke words it occurred to me only at that moment that I probably hadn't spoken into a telephone for 35 years:
"Parts, please."
Once upon a time, after the invention of dirt but long before the personal computer, I was a parts runner and have probably spoken those words into telephones more than a thousand times. It still works.
And yes, Claire's got her running board back.
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I served my time as a parts runner in the past. I still prefer to use the old fashioned phone book to the computer just because it irks me when it gives me results 200 miles away in an ad and suggests other searches and crud. I love my phone book.
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