Kindness At Work

In difficult times, recordings of Ajahn Brahm's talks have been a source of comfort. As he tends to repeat his stories, the trick is to not listen to too many a week, and block off other major distractions while tuning in. He was my drive-home listening for a spell.

One of his tales was about a monk(?) who was "kind" to an automated teller machine, wishing it "good day", and such. Apparently, the ATM "repaid" the kindness by spitting out a twenty-euro bill when the monk passed by.

Of course machines can't reciprocate human gestures. The monk's daily exercises in kindness were more of a reminder to himself to be kind, that even if one's day had been heck, there are things to be grateful for and be kind about.

But stories like this feed into the myth of Buddhism being more than just a philosophy about suffering and the end of suffering, fodder for adherents of the law of attraction and all that.

Nevertheless, I started practising that form of kindness with the car. Nothing special, just a few pats on a headlight when arriving at work or arriving home. On occasion, I do talk to it when nobody's looking, so don't call a shrink on me. I'm already seeing one.

I've been "kind" to the car for a few months and didn't expect anything to happen. But something did, yesterday evening, when I stopped to pump petrol and inflate my tyres. One of them had been repeatedly punctured over a few months and the others weren't looking well either, even though the treads seemed okay.

The problem tyre, located on the driver side up front, sported a cavity that wouldn't look out of place in a bad tooth. Something seemed to have punctured it (again) and a crack had expanded from the entry point.

Going to sleep that night was a little harder than usual. Imagine the catastrophe if that cavity had widened, weakening the tyre till breaking point. I've seen a tyre blow out of a lorry and it was terrifying.

So I have a lot to be grateful for today, even though it kind of sucked: more work poured in, and I already have a near-full plate. For one, the errant tyre, plus its friends, held out until I reached a nearby tyre shop this morning.

"Ye g*ds, how long has it been since you changed your tyres?" the tyre shop foreman exclaimed. "These guys are way past their expiry dates."

So it seems the date of expiry or manufacture was stamped on each tyre, though I couldn't read where. The foreman said something about "2014", so I assumed it was the manufacture date. Going by that, my last tyre change should have been in 2019, yet here I was.

I had been driving up and down highways with potentially explosive tyres for about four years.

I had all the tyres replaced, as the foreman recommended. I went for the cheaper ones they had but if they were substandard the shop wouldn't stock them – not when lives and property are on the line, right? They offered to do the tyre alignment next time, as I was in a bit of a hurry. The bill felt hot and heavy in my wallet but they were nice, so I agreed.

Tyre problems can remain hidden, especially parts that touch the ground where you can't see. What were the chances of that errant tyre showing off that cavity on that day, at that time, when I wanted to pump air into it?

So, yes, for the law-of-attraction crowd and Ajahn Brahm listeners, maybe the car was trying to warn me. PROBLEM. FIX. NOW.

What it's really about is not stressing (too much) about things that have already happened and work on the issue at hand when you can. Worrying about the hole in my tyre wasn't going to help, so I chilled and waited till morning when the tyre shops opened. Be grateful things got fixed.

I've heard many stories from the British-born Buddhist abbot, some of which were told to him, but never have I imagined I'd be living an episode of his tales.