It was time to have my car serviced. You know that thing we have to do every 3000 to 5000 miles depending on what kind of oil that is being used. I usually have it done at a little car wash/service station that my son use to work at. Mostly because of loyalty. The people who own this particular business were very good to Mike and they usually do a really good job. But when we bought our car back in November,
the dealership gave us a coupon that I thought sounded like a pretty good price.
So I loaded up Mikael and we went to get the car serviced.
Now I probably ought to preface this story with some information about me. I grew up the daughter of a diesel mechanic who not only taught young men how to tear apart a tractor and put it back together but also "fixed" cars in a shop behind our house every night and Saturday to make extra money. I was a parts runner for a couple of years in high school for my dad. The smell of oil and fuel brings back some of the sweetest memories of my father. If I wanted to talk to my dad, I had to go sit on the stool in the shop and speak to the feet. He was usually "buried" underneath somebody's car where only his feet were visible. When I became old enough to drive, the requirements at my house were that you not only take Driver's Education but Big Jim Education. This meant you knew how to change a tire, change the oil and change a spark plug. So I am not some wimpy girl who knows nothing about air filters and manifolds. Now don't get me wrong, I do not love cars the way mechanics do. I am a nurse for a reason. So I am more than happy to turn servicing my car over to the professionals.
Ok, so Mike and I go to the dealership, hand over the keys to my Rav 4 and retire ourselves to this little room off the main shop to watch American Pickers on the History channel. Mike is not terribly happy that I have brought him along for the ride. We are there for about 10minutes when the first guy comes in and announces to me that my transmission fluid is black. Just black. "Oh...Ok...what exactly does that mean?" I ask him. He shakes his head and looks down at the floor like he is giving me the most tragic news ever. "Well...it means that it needs to be replaced." "And how much will that cost?" I ask him. I have become quite the negotiator in my economy situation. He quickly answers that it will cost approximately $180.00.
Now I probably ought to preface this story with some information about me. I grew up the daughter of a diesel mechanic who not only taught young men how to tear apart a tractor and put it back together but also "fixed" cars in a shop behind our house every night and Saturday to make extra money. I was a parts runner for a couple of years in high school for my dad. The smell of oil and fuel brings back some of the sweetest memories of my father. If I wanted to talk to my dad, I had to go sit on the stool in the shop and speak to the feet. He was usually "buried" underneath somebody's car where only his feet were visible. When I became old enough to drive, the requirements at my house were that you not only take Driver's Education but Big Jim Education. This meant you knew how to change a tire, change the oil and change a spark plug. So I am not some wimpy girl who knows nothing about air filters and manifolds. Now don't get me wrong, I do not love cars the way mechanics do. I am a nurse for a reason. So I am more than happy to turn servicing my car over to the professionals.
Ok, so Mike and I go to the dealership, hand over the keys to my Rav 4 and retire ourselves to this little room off the main shop to watch American Pickers on the History channel. Mike is not terribly happy that I have brought him along for the ride. We are there for about 10minutes when the first guy comes in and announces to me that my transmission fluid is black. Just black. "Oh...Ok...what exactly does that mean?" I ask him. He shakes his head and looks down at the floor like he is giving me the most tragic news ever. "Well...it means that it needs to be replaced." "And how much will that cost?" I ask him. I have become quite the negotiator in my economy situation. He quickly answers that it will cost approximately $180.00.
Now I remind him that I just bought my vehicle four months ago and shouldn't that have been something that they checked before they sold me the car (while I choke on the $180.00 prospect). He gives me some explanation of how they usually only replace it every 60,000 miles or so but mine is so black.
I realized how upset this young man is about my "black" fluid
but frankly it will have to wait I tell him.
So he leaves us to watch the two men on American Pickers "rob" an old man out of his hidden treasures, knowing all the while that they will go back to New York to unload their purchases on the wealthy
who in turn will pay top dollar for antiques.
10 minutes later another young man comes in with a filter of some kind. Not an air filter but something that filters my heater and air conditioner. He has brought it with him to "show" me exactly what the problem is. It is black. "How much does it cost to replace it?" I ask him. "$10.00" he replies. "OK...I can afford that. But again how is it that none of this was checked four months ago? He can't give me an answer
10 minutes later another young man comes in with a filter of some kind. Not an air filter but something that filters my heater and air conditioner. He has brought it with him to "show" me exactly what the problem is. It is black. "How much does it cost to replace it?" I ask him. "$10.00" he replies. "OK...I can afford that. But again how is it that none of this was checked four months ago? He can't give me an answer
but seems a little happier that I let him change this.
10 more minutes and I look up only to see another young man rolling something our direction. Instead of coming and getting me and asking me to take a look at the atrocity on the tire of my car, he decided to bring it to me. "Mam, your tire has a nail in it." Sure enough, there it is. What has me baffled is why the whole tire had to give up its spot on the car to reveal itself.
10 more minutes and I look up only to see another young man rolling something our direction. Instead of coming and getting me and asking me to take a look at the atrocity on the tire of my car, he decided to bring it to me. "Mam, your tire has a nail in it." Sure enough, there it is. What has me baffled is why the whole tire had to give up its spot on the car to reveal itself.
"Do you want us to fix it for you?"
I am beginning to see a pattern and Mikael has begun to laugh himself into a coma at this point. "No...No I don't want you to fix it. I will take it to the place where we get our tires from...thank you:)" He continued to make quite a case about how it would be unsafe for me to drive any farther than I needed to. And I assured him that I wouldn't be driving more than necessary just to the other store where they would repair my tire for free.
Finally, with the car in moderate repair, we were given back the keys. Just as I had promised, I drove to the tire store and asked them to repair the nail in my tire. Mike and I go to the designated room where Myth Busters is on the TV. I like this particular store as they have windows and popcorn. The old fashioned kind with oil and real popcorn that cooks in one of those old popcorn cookers. We had settled in eating popcorn and watching TV when a nice woman who looks like she really loves tires (if you know what I mean) approaches me and Mike. "Um...we got that nail out of your tire but did you realize that your tires are bald?" "No...No I didn't...but you know what I will have my husband check that out and we will get back to you!"
I grabbed Mike and vowed to stay out of shops, car dealerships and tire stores for at least another 3000 miles or so.
I am beginning to see a pattern and Mikael has begun to laugh himself into a coma at this point. "No...No I don't want you to fix it. I will take it to the place where we get our tires from...thank you:)" He continued to make quite a case about how it would be unsafe for me to drive any farther than I needed to. And I assured him that I wouldn't be driving more than necessary just to the other store where they would repair my tire for free.
Finally, with the car in moderate repair, we were given back the keys. Just as I had promised, I drove to the tire store and asked them to repair the nail in my tire. Mike and I go to the designated room where Myth Busters is on the TV. I like this particular store as they have windows and popcorn. The old fashioned kind with oil and real popcorn that cooks in one of those old popcorn cookers. We had settled in eating popcorn and watching TV when a nice woman who looks like she really loves tires (if you know what I mean) approaches me and Mike. "Um...we got that nail out of your tire but did you realize that your tires are bald?" "No...No I didn't...but you know what I will have my husband check that out and we will get back to you!"
I grabbed Mike and vowed to stay out of shops, car dealerships and tire stores for at least another 3000 miles or so.
Or send Tom next time.
Yah, I like that idea a lot better.
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