BASIC AUTO MAINTENANCE (OR: WHY YOUR MECHANIC MAKES MORE THAN YOU DO) (from a book by Carl Koslowski)
Have you ever driven your car away from the auto shop and had the uneasy feeling that the entire staff there was laughing like hyenas at you behind your back? That is a common feeling, and there is a simple reason why you think that.
They are.
“But why?” you may ask, “Why are they having a laugh at my expense?” The explanation for that is pretty easy, my friend, and deep down inside you probably already know it. Let us set the time machine back a few years and look at things as they were when you were in high school.
Chances are you thought you were pretty darned smart back in high school. Remember? You were on the debate team, the yearbook staff, you may even have been the valedictorian of your senior class. Your parents were so proud they gave you a car. They helped you take care of it. Then you went to college and really wowed ‘em.
Wow.
But before we move on, let’s go back to high school. Remember that guy who took all the shop classes? Remember his friends? What was it you called them, Motor Heads? Grease Monkeys? Wrench Jockeys?
Boy did you ever look down on them! Ha Ha Ha! Look at the shop guys! Losers!
Admit it – that’s what you thought. But now you’re fresh out of school. On your own. With your own car. Your own used car, that is. Funny how life works.
See, Mom and Dad aren’t going to pay for the repairs now that you’ve struck out on your own. So guess who’s laughing now? That’s right, Smartypants…all those guys you looked down on in high school.
Admit it – when you take that car into the shop you feel as dumb as a brine shrimp. When the man in the coveralls looks at you and gestures back at your disabled transportation, you haven’t got the vaguest idea what he is talking about, do you?
Be honest.
If you are the average person you wouldn’t know a catalytic converter if there was one floating in your soup. That’s why you’ll happily pay the “dumbest kid” in your high school class to fix it. See, he would know the catalytic converter if it was floating in your soup.
So who’s the dumb kid now, Mr. Philosophy Major?
While you wait in the repair shop for the former dumb kid to tell you what’s causing your 11-year-old dorkmobile to spew black smoke and sputter like a Cub Scout at a nude beach, perhaps you might want to check out the walls of the repair shop. Go ahead, look at the sign that lists their labor rate…Look at it!
No, no, you didn’t read it wrong, Einstein. It says $75 an hour. Seventy-five dollars!
Even your psychiatrist doesn’t charge that. And without your car, you can’t even go see your psychiatrist. In fact, it’s not unlikely that you will see your psychiatrist in the waiting room of the repair shop as well. See, he doesn’t know what a catalytic converter is either.
The hour and a half you wait for the mechanic to return from the bay and tell you what’s wrong with your car is the longest ninety minutes you will ever spend. You’ll try to distract yourself by reading the three-year-old copies of Sports Illustrated they’ve thoughtfully left for you. Maybe you’ll buy a can of pop. Perhaps you’ll treat yourself to a nice gumball. If the repair shop is nice they’ll even have free coffee for the patrons. Go head! Have a cup of java on the boys in the bay! At $75 an hour, they can afford it.
Finally, after half a pot of the strongest coffee this side of Istanbul, the mechanic will come out and call your name, If you’re smart you won’t answer. You’ll run for your life.
He’s about to start telling you why you have to give him five hundred dollars.
He’ll start with the phrase, “Well, we checked the engine on the computer and this is what the problem is…” That’s the last thing he’ll say that you will understand at all.
Except the five hundred dollar part.
He will ramble on about the alternator fan belt or the fuel injectors or the overhead cams. All the while your eyes will glaze over. You will have absolutely no idea what he is talking about.
He will know that you have absolutely no idea what he is talking about. But he’ll keep on talking about parts that he is about to replace in your car….and you’ll nod. He will take an eternity to get to the only part of the conversation you really care about anyway.
The part about the five hundred dollars.
All along you will both know that you are giving him the money. But he’ll make you wait.
Why does he make you wait? Why does he torture you like this?
Because you asked for it, buster. You deserve every second of torture he dishes out. You owe him that five hundred bucks, even if all that’s wrong with your car is that it’s out of gas.
Why do you owe him? Because you wasted all that time in high school and college learning philosophy. And mocking him.
He knew you thought he was dumber than you. He wasn’t. All along he was plotting this day of sweet revenge in his grease monkey mind. You will gladly pay restitution to him for your arrogance, restitution in the form of five hundred bucks. Your psychiatrist will pay him the same restitution as well.
It’s a good lesson in humility when you think about it… guess that’s why “kar” is the first syllable in “karma.”
Thus endeth the lesson, but since you will inevitably face a mechanic who knows you know nothing at all about your car, here’s a short list of parts that your car does not have. Hopefully, this will save you embarrassment, if not money.
Your car does not have a :
Defibrillator
Maypole
Blinker Fluid Reservoir
Crisper
Carbuncle
Mine Sweeper
Ionic Transmographer
Semiautomatic transmission
Time Portal
Solar Interferometer
Martin Landau Roof
Starter Pistol
Cheese Filter
Irradiator
Electric Slide
Clown Vent
Serling Rod
Catatonic Converter
Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Aorta
Jimmy Hat
Snooze Alarm
Iambic Pentameter
Proton Torpedo Valve
Picnic Gasket
Litter Box
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