Has anyone else noticed that there is really something wrong with most people?
That's all really.
I'm a guy, right? As such I should have some sort of working knowledge of motors and vehicles or at least be able to fake it. But I don't. I think I have an aversion to being really greasy and maybe that holds me back.
A few weeks ago the babe-magnet Ranger suddenly flashed me the dreaded "check engine" light. It's a horrible moment when it comes on. Then it went off. Then it was on, then it was off. Ad nauseum.
It was as if my car was suddenly invaded by the spectre of a hen-pecking mother nagging me to keep checking my engine. I may have had a break down due to this, but with me it's unlikely one could tell.
So I really ignored it. My truck was running like a top! Okay, it wasn't spinning round and round but oh, hell, nevermind. Running well, it was.
I refused to just take in to the shop and say "oh the light is on, I just don't know". I may as well bend over and let 'em line up, if you know what I mean. I had to find some pattern or common denominator with it. I got all Sherlock Holmes on it's ass but still no clues were to be had.
I used to understand cars a bit when I had my '66 Mustang (vroom vroom) but your blind, armless six year old cousin Timmy (poor, poor Timmy)could have worked on that car. All the parts were big and there was luxurious space in between it all. They had names we all knew like starter and radiator.
Now? Every inch of space is filled with a gizmo with a forboding name.
"Yep, that's yer CSV Manic turbo digital outlet dual lever valve there. That's a whole heap of trouble".
You shake your head like you know what that is and say "well, that's what I thought alright".
Anyway, I just kind of let it come and go and went on my merry way. Until I no longer could. I had to get an inspection to renew my tag. Certainly they would notice the light and have a problem with that. And you just know that the light would 100% come on at that exact moment. Smurfy's Law and all. Smurfy? We'll do that another day.
I thought maybe if I looked like I knew what end is up I might be alright taking it in to get fixed. If I had the grease from repairs past under my nails. Wear a baseball hat that I've soaked in motor oil. I still have a bit of a limp from my back so that was good. I needed a shirt that said something like "Cleve" above the pocket. I needed to mumble a lot and spit something foreign from my mouth at odd intervals. I needed to seem as though I would do this job myself if I just had a spare moment in my busy day.
But really I just dropped it off on the way to work, leaving the keys in the drop box before they opened. I did however, roll the form in the dirt and spit a huge loogie on it for them. Maybe that would help give me mechanic cred.
I tease, I joke I have friends who are mechanics. Of course none of them were around to help me dammit, so no tease, no joke I tell the naked truth.
Or something.
$280 later and my flagalisticexpeealladocious valve was replaced. I got my sticker and I am street legal again.
I have to say though I miss the spastic "engine light" coming and going. It gave that element of danger that every ride could be the one where something flew off.
Living on the edge my friends. It's a good buzz.