I’m afraid I’m screwed. My faithful, loving, reliable, never-fail-me, friend suddenly broke down on Saturday.
Yes, my awesome car is in the shop and there’s nothing I can do but hope for the bests.
No, that’s not a typo. Bests, as in two best.
Best one is that they don’t boot eff me with a staggering bill. Best two is that they fix it right the first time.
As you might be able to tell my experiences with mechanics are less than positive. One that stands out in my mind is the night I’m sitting in the living room and look out the window to see my car, recently back from an auto mechanic, and wondering if I left the dome light on in the car. Then thinking to myself, ‘I don’t remember the dome light being kind of orange’. Then thinking that the windshield needs to be cleaned because I can hardly see the inside of the car. It was then I realized my car was filling with smoke and the, now red, glow was not the dome light but an electrical short that was about to turn my car into an ashtray.
The first pass comment from the mechanic was that he thought it was a sensor. I want to believe him. It’ll be as simple as plugging into the cars onboard computer, looking at which sensor it is, disconnect the bad one, plug in the new, badda bing, badda bang, done. 30 minutes work. That’s what I want. Instead I think it’s going to be like I’m the new guy in prison that’s just dropped the soap.
As Dr. Smith would say, ‘Oh the pain… the pain.’