Life Lesson 7,252: It is not, actually, a good idea to annoy your mechanic.
Last week, I was responsible. I took my car to the mechanic BEFORE I went on my road trip.
Sometimes it happens. Like sometimes, you win at craps, and sometimes your dogs steal your pickup truck, go on a joy ride, and crash into a river. Life is wacky.
Hugging my car is how I know when it needs to be washed.
And then I went on a road trip.
I never will. Journey. I never, ever will.
Everything was going fine. I had snacks. I had drinks. I had several layers of clothing on for various temperatures I may encounter. I’d filled up my car with gas and hit the road at a completely reasonable hour.** The drive was going well, when suddenly I encountered an obstacle: The teeny tiny bump created by a seam in the highway.
**Exactly 1 hour after I’d been planning to leave. Which is why I can’t have nice things.
This gentle bump was really a completely normal road seam on the highway, many miles between exits. This is an important fact.
This should not have been a problem.
I have carefully transcribed the exact noises for your pleasure.
But it was. It was a very noisy problem.
Convinced I was doomed with a flat, I drove on to the nearest exit.*** I coasted into the first gas station I spotted.
***The state of Virginia doesn’t believe in highway shoulders. They do believe in ditches and trees, though. Thanks, Virginia!
My car looks more ridiculous every time I draw it.
I was on a mission to make it to my destination, so there was no time to call AAA.**** So I suited up for car work:
****Confession: There was totally time. But I wanted to fix it. Because I didn’t get to play with my car and change my own oil.
Of course I keep my car repair headgear in the car. It’s the best place for it.
I’d just gotten to work when I heard the Voice of the South speak to me.*****
*****Ok. It wasn’t the Voice of the South. It was a guy in overalls. And no shirt. It was the Voice of the Awkward Southern Stereotype. But that doesn’t sound as important.
Any time I can’t see someone speaking to me, I pretend I’m being addressed by ghosts.
I was charmed by a spontaneous offer for help. It looked like the world was full of wonderful people! But I wanted to fix it myself, and I could see the problem. so I thanked him.
I don’t make these things up, people.
It took a second for his words to filter through my ears.
Surely I have misheard this.
Apparently the mysterious occurrence of a female-person working on a car attracted more fine and upstanding people with opinions.
I had sharp tools. These are brave men, my friends. Very brave.
This is how my brain reacted:
Deliverance Country: Don’t stop there. It’s more dangerous than bat country
Then the engine shield******, which had been improperly reattached and was dragging on the ground*******, came loose from the last broken bolt.
******The large plastic piece that is attached to the fenders and front bumper on some cars, beneath the engine.
*******And smacking into my tires. And picking up road litter. And giving me a panic attack.
VICTORY IS MINE!
I felt compelled to show off my victory to my new found audience.
Strangers in Deliverance Country are a little perplexed by grown women who say “Tah DAAAHHH”
But I still didn’t want to stick around.******** So I was back on the road before any more lady-lessons were forthcoming.
********I’ve SEEN that movie.
If you sing this song by yourself, you never have to say “no you can’t!” You just get to chant “Yes I can Yes I can!” over and over again.
And then a terrible thought occurred to me.
(I’m not being accusatory here, people. He realized he still had 3/4 of the bolts in the shop when I called him to ask about this.)
And so a terrible life lesson was learned.
Don’t distract your mechanic or you’ll end up in Deliverance Country with a broken car.
(Also, I’m sorry for not posting yesterday. As an apology, please accept this news that Oscar Mayer is now selling Lunchables for adults.)