I believe many cars are possessed by demons. Actually, most of the
cars I owned would fall in to this category. We expect a lot out of our cars,
much more than we did when I started driving over 60 years ago. They breakdown
on occasion or develop a weird noise that is extremely irritating.
When I was younger I did many of my own repairs. It was the guy
thing to do and I didn't have deep pockets, so whenever I could do my own repairs it was
like getting a bonus. For a while, I tried to convince myself that working on
cars was fun but it wasn't. I like driving cars but as I grew older I decided
that I was fooling myself about the enjoyment attached to repairing them.
I banged up my knuckles many times when the wrench slipped off a
nut, propelling my hands deep into the engine compartment, bouncing off various
immoveable sharp objects. I cracked my head on the hood more times than I can
remember as I lifted a part off the engine. The scabs left on my head made it
tricky and always painful to comb my hair for weeks. Each time I ran the comb
through my hair I took extra caution to avoid the scab but invariably, I would
nick it and relive the pain as it was a fresh gash. Like any guy I wore my
scars like a badge of accomplishment. If they gave awards out for injuries
received during car repairs, I would undoubtedly be a Medal of Honor candidate.
I'm not even going to complain out the many times oil dripped down
my arms onto my face or the grease that seemed to permanently inhabited the
crevasses in my hands. Some may say that I was the problem not the car, which I
can agree to in part. I do believe though that the car was laughing at my
mishaps and secretly participating in my misadventures, by releasing the nut
unexpectantly or squirting oil in my eye as I was about to complete the repair.
That's a sure sign of a demon at work.
The answer to my dilemma was to turn over the repair work to a professional.
So, I did just that, and no longer had prizefighter hands. I also now
combed my hair without worry. My troubles were over, well at least that's
what thought. Unlike some women, (I said some, calm down) I knew enough about
cars to be able to have an intelligent conversation with my mechanic but the
demon car was not done with me yet. I didn't run to my mechanic for every noise
I heard just those that were persistent. Whenever I heard a repetitive odd
noise from the demon car I would make an appointment at the repair shop. It was
usually a harsh embarrassing squeal that disturbed other motorist or scared
their children.
I dutifully, made the repair appointment when I saw children
screaming and pointing at my car. It was a sign. I wanted to show the mechanic
I was knowledgeable about cars. So, I explained the problem with as much detail
as possible and even gave suggestions on an approach to take, which I'm sure
he appreciated, not. On the way to the shop my car always seemed to perform like
well-maintained Indy car. It's difficult for a mechanic to fix the problem when
the car is humming like a finely turned exotic sports car. You get that look,
women will understand, where they cock their head back and forth like a puppy
then chuckle saying, "Ok, let me take a look."
Last time I said, "The car is possessed, it's been running
like crap all week, but it drove perfectly on my way here."
"That happens all the time." He said. I'm sure he was thinking, don't worry girly
boy, we got this, just leave us your bank account and routing number.
I just want to get some respect for my car knowledge. Next time
I'll tell them to call me "The Fonze" that should do it.
