An Illustrated Guide to the Experience of Automobile Repair

Posted by Stratafied

Or: My Car Has Been in the Shop for a Week and I Am Not Coping Well

A week ago, my car stopped working*, rather abruptly and without much warning.*** It happily turned on, and happily changed gears, and happily refused to go any faster than two miles an hour.
* Was attacked by invisible space pirates and stolen from me by a tow truck.**
** This is what I tell people when they ask me what happened to my car. People should probably stop asking me what happened to my car.
*** Except for that terrible sound that it kept making that I was ignoring.

My car is very happy about being a non-working jerk.

So I called the automobile club, which is the club they let you pay to be in when you happen to have purchased a car. The automobile club, which calls itself AAA****, reluctantly agreed to tow my car exactly four miles before they would charge me a very silly amount of money per mile. I let them tow my car precisely three-point-seven-five miles and then called my car insurance people and had it towed (for free) seven more miles to the repair shop.
**** If adult entertainment is abbreviated as “XXX”, does “AAA” mean that I’m engaging in some form of wholesome adult automobile-related activities? This is today’s awkward thought.

This is not their real logo. In fact, for legal reasons, I’m probably talking about an imaginary company.

The first day was pretty rough.

There was much worrying and wringing of hands.

But then things started looking up.

And by “up,” I mean the dealership paid for a rental car for me because they were all out of loaners.

Then overwhelming feelings of guilt…overwhelmed me.*****
***** They overwhelmed my vocabulary.

The keys felt like betrayal in my hand…

But then the joys of an unfamiliar fancy car won me over.

Clearly my car love is a fickle, fickle thing. Mostly because I only have an AUX plug in in my car.

But even fancy technology and a super-charged air conditioner****** couldn’t fill the dark void in my heart left by the absence of my beloved car.
****** It’s the South. It’s already hot. Also I really love air conditioning. Captain Planet is not proud of me.

My face is not leaking, But my eyes are. Traitors.

Sorrow leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to writing angry letters to your car repair shop, and never delivering them.

It’s like the opposite of a ransom note. It’s an “I hate you and I’ll give you anything you want” note.

And finally, imaginary-letter-writing leads to a call from the car repair shop telling you that your car is probably ready to be picked up.*******
******* Yes. Obviously the first thing leads to the second thing. Don’t your imaginarily-written-letters make things happen?

This is the car repair guy I have been dealing with. Let’s call him Jim.
Jim is really not sure how to deal with me.

My heart filled with joy. It grew to three times its regular size********
******** Like the Grinch, but lots less green and fuzzy, and probably more medically concerning.

But then I got to the repair shop, and they tried to keep my car again.

THAT’S NOT A REAL THING, JIM.

Really, this is the story of why I’m never taking my car to a mechanic ever again.

Life Lesson: Sometimes It Is Best to Let People Focus

Posted by Stratafied

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.

It's hard to make happy car-dance hands when something is wrong

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.

Grumblemumblewhine

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.)

I Am Very Good at Annoying Mechanics

Posted by Stratafied

Or: I Had to Get Work Done on My Car Today and This Blog Post Is Very Short Due to My Lack of Lunch Break

I’m going on a road trip soon. I’m not going to tell you when. But road trips mean getting my car checked out, my oil changed, my tires rotated, and my alignment adjusted.

I love my car. It looks like a bubble. It is an ugly doodle, though.

This is not just because I am a responsible adult. It’s also because I love my car with a fiery passion. It’s a tiny Nissan Versa. It looks like a bubble. I bought it new, and for the first many months of its life, I did all the maintenance on it.*
*Under the express supervision of my father, who cannot quite figure out how I can get completely covered in oil when doing things like checking my coolant.

What, do you not have a special head accessory for car care?
You are so weird.

But when I got my fancy job and moved into my beloved apartment, I could no longer work on my car. That kind of wildly independent-woman behavior is frowned upon, apparently.**
**Probably by super sexist insurance companies who are concerned abotu things like “safety” and “liability.”

So I take my car to a mechanic.

My mechanic also has fancy car-care headwear.
Because neither of us are weird.

This makes me jealous. But it also transforms me into a small, irritating child.

Don’t try this at home, kids.

And that is why my mechanic finishes my car super quickly every time I go in. But it’s also why he rolls his eyes every time I come in.

Kids on road trips have nothin’ on me.

Perpetual Plot Hole

The misadventures, daring exploits, and tragic triple dog dares of a classy girl in her 20s

mechanics

An Illustrated Guide to the Experience of Automobile Repair

Or: My Car Has Been in the Shop for a Week and I Am Not Coping Well

Life Lesson: Sometimes It Is Best to Let People Focus

Life Lesson 7,252: It is not, actually, a good idea to annoy your mechanic.

I Am Very Good at Annoying Mechanics

Or: I Had to Get Work Done on My Car Today and This Blog Post Is Very Short Due to My Lack of Lunch Break

Or: My Car Has Been in the Shop for a Week and I Am Not Coping Well

Share this:

Like this:

Life Lesson 7,252: It is not, actually, a good idea to annoy your mechanic.

Share this:

Like this:

Or: I Had to Get Work Done on My Car Today and This Blog Post Is Very Short Due to My Lack of Lunch Break

Share this:

Like this: