Free
I was off work for the day given in name to our favorite proponent of genocide, Chris “It doesn’t count if they’re not wearing shirts!” Columbus. I would have celebrated it anyway as a glorious, weekend-extending free day – giving no mention to the history, or to the irony – but my car had cooked up other plans for me. Deep in its blazing center, from the wheezing sounds and vaguely present smell of death-by-fire, it seemed to be roasting a rat.
Or so I imagined when the ‘Service Engine Soon’ light popped on. I find it disconcerting that vehicles indicate trouble so nonchalantly. In the future, I want my car equipped with the voice of Mo’Nique shouting, “Ooooh, giiiirrrll, you best get off the road, now!” But the makers of Saturn are not with me on this, so I take their demure warnings as seriously as I assume they are meant to be taken. I drove straight to the shop, envisioning roadkill sucked up into the workings, a leaf-based bonfire in the engine, a family of chipmunks making a treadmill out of this “belt” I keep hearing about. In the sparse land of What I Know About Cars, any such thing is likely.
I’ve always heard that women should be tough and knowledgeable when dealing with mechanics, or else bring a man along. I have no men, or knowledge, so I did my best to mask my innate nervousness (which I don’t mean to imply is a girl thing, it’s just a me thing, so don’t even go there) and act like I knew what I was saying. I did the one-elbow-lean onto the counter and gestured casually toward the parking lot. “Yeah, I’ve got the ‘Service Engine Soon’ light. Came on this morning. Car’s been sounding strange lately, so…”
“Strange how?”
“Well, like…uh, kind of like…actually I always describe it as…a wheezing old man?”
“A what?”
“A wheezing old…never mind. To me it just sounds like it’s struggling, you know? Like it’s working way too hard just to keep breathing, er, running.”
“Uh-huh.” Okay, so my cred was gone at sentence two. He looked at me with what I hoped was amusement, not costly annoyance, and said they’d get someone on it. I sat down in the waiting room to read a book.
Three and a half hours later, after all the characters in my book had fixed their problems, I was told that I had no problems. “Ma’am, we checked everything.” Stuff was wired, connected, clean enough, and working. “Another couple thousand miles, you should replace the xlkdcfn jhssklas [I had him write it down], but other than that there’s really no issue.”
I had waited out the afternoon chewing off the ends of pencils, thinking this was the end, the old man was on his way out, that I’d owe thousands of dollars or should be headed to the junkyard. But nothing was wrong? Happy Columbus Day to me. I thanked the mechanic and drove off to Barnes & Noble, my happy destination on a free day, where I picked up a coffee and a new book, a new set of someone else’s problems.
Or so I imagined when the ‘Service Engine Soon’ light popped on. I find it disconcerting that vehicles indicate trouble so nonchalantly. In the future, I want my car equipped with the voice of Mo’Nique shouting, “Ooooh, giiiirrrll, you best get off the road, now!” But the makers of Saturn are not with me on this, so I take their demure warnings as seriously as I assume they are meant to be taken. I drove straight to the shop, envisioning roadkill sucked up into the workings, a leaf-based bonfire in the engine, a family of chipmunks making a treadmill out of this “belt” I keep hearing about. In the sparse land of What I Know About Cars, any such thing is likely.
I’ve always heard that women should be tough and knowledgeable when dealing with mechanics, or else bring a man along. I have no men, or knowledge, so I did my best to mask my innate nervousness (which I don’t mean to imply is a girl thing, it’s just a me thing, so don’t even go there) and act like I knew what I was saying. I did the one-elbow-lean onto the counter and gestured casually toward the parking lot. “Yeah, I’ve got the ‘Service Engine Soon’ light. Came on this morning. Car’s been sounding strange lately, so…”
“Strange how?”
“Well, like…uh, kind of like…actually I always describe it as…a wheezing old man?”
“A what?”
“A wheezing old…never mind. To me it just sounds like it’s struggling, you know? Like it’s working way too hard just to keep breathing, er, running.”
“Uh-huh.” Okay, so my cred was gone at sentence two. He looked at me with what I hoped was amusement, not costly annoyance, and said they’d get someone on it. I sat down in the waiting room to read a book.
Three and a half hours later, after all the characters in my book had fixed their problems, I was told that I had no problems. “Ma’am, we checked everything.” Stuff was wired, connected, clean enough, and working. “Another couple thousand miles, you should replace the xlkdcfn jhssklas [I had him write it down], but other than that there’s really no issue.”
I had waited out the afternoon chewing off the ends of pencils, thinking this was the end, the old man was on his way out, that I’d owe thousands of dollars or should be headed to the junkyard. But nothing was wrong? Happy Columbus Day to me. I thanked the mechanic and drove off to Barnes & Noble, my happy destination on a free day, where I picked up a coffee and a new book, a new set of someone else’s problems.
posted by Tracy at 11:00 PM
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