The View From My Weekend

Fail.

Saturday afternoon, on my way home from plate hunting, my car started sputtering and jerking. I'd press the gas and sometimes it would be, but most of the time it wouldn't. I got it home (freaking out at B the whole way) and realized I'd have to call a wrecker to get it to the dealership.

PSA: Do you have AAA? You should. It's $44 per year, plus a one-time membership sign-up fee of $20. Then you can add other accounts onto yours for like $20. Best money ever spent. Use it once and it's paid for. Never need it? Lucky you. Instead use your membership for hotel and car rental discounts, which amount to about $10 off a pop. Christmas is coming! Make this your stocking stuffer.

So I called the wrecker on Sunday afternoon and he headed on over and promptly noticed that my car had a flat from tire. &*$&@*! What? When did that happen? I called B laughing, because you have to laugh when it's a holiday week and you're praying that the dealership will have someone actually look at your car. Turns out the poor sputter was probably a blessing, as I would've woken up this morning with a flat tire, had to call and wait for a tow-truck, missed half a day of work, etc. Just so long as the sputter is a quirk, and not a huge malfunction. Ok, I prayed, if it IS a huge malfunction, make it a ginormous one that's covered by my drive-train warranty.

So I get Grandma to take me into work this morning, bless her 91-year-old heart, but first we stop by the dealership just to put a face (and a short skirt, sue me) with a car. Maybe that's dumb. I prefer to think of it as "helpful." Heck, they would've gotten cookies if I could've gotten myself anywhere to buy the ingredients. I'm not above bribery, especially when it's of people doing things that I have no idea how to do.

About an hour later, safe at work, I get a phone call from Jake at the dealership, who informs me that my new oil change place, the one I raved about being open until 6pm, bless them, knocked my boots loose when they changed my air filter. So, remember, I have no idea about cars, so when he talks about knocking boots, I can tell you my mind did not go to engine regulators, but apparently it should have. The boots, as they were, were loose, letting "unmetered air" through my car. Basically, my car was saying, "She's pushing the pedal again, give her X amount of gas," but the car never heard that because the ears (the boots) weren't listening. So he's tightened the boots and all is well.

This is what I don't get about car places. "Boots" already means something to me, namely knee-high leather footwear. Pick a different word, or just reverse it. Stoobs brings nothing to mind.

So all is well. They've fixed my tire, tightened my boots, replaced a corroded positive connector for my battery, and given me new wipers. Yes, I went for the new wipers. I'm so happy the car's fixed that I would've gone for new floor mats if they'd offered them. I didn't go for the new drive belts, which are cracked, because apparently that can wait until the 60,000 checkup. Translation? A broken drive belt might mean my AC quits, but it won't leave me stranded on the side of the road.

What a day. Tonight I'll do the car shuffle, moving cars around Birmingham until everyone is where they're suppose to be. But today, oh today, I am oh-so thankful for easy fixes, and for the fun I'm going to have writing a letter to the oil change place. It pays to be engaged to a lawyer, you know. His first thought? "Ask them if it's going to hurt your car in the long run, because that's a direct liable suit."