As a parent, my personal theory on life problems is that one
problem must be solved before the next one comes along. First,
colic, then baby teeth, then potty training and braces, and so on
and so on.
As a parent, my personal theory on life problems is that one problem must be solved before the next one comes along. First, colic, then baby teeth, then potty training and braces, and so on and so on.
However, as nicely as this works with raising kids, this isn’t so in the automotive world. Oh noooo. This is because cars, you see, don’t adhere to this particular theory. Oh sure, they go along for months, even YEARS, without so much as an oil change, toying with your mind and lulling you into a false sense of security.
But mark my words, one day, there you’ll be cruising along the freeway with the windows rolled down, rock music turned up, the summer breeze blowing through your air, and thinking how nice and easy and carefree your life is and that maybe, just maybe you’ll finally have enough extra money this year to take that special Hawaiian vacation and WHAMMO! Your car will come to a screeching halt.
Trust me. It’ll happen.
And everyone knows that when cars need work, it’s never something like, say, a loose screw. It’s something so deep and dark and mysterious that there’s a whole other language for it. One that’s similar to English, except everything in it is much more expensive. It’s comprised of terms like “exhaust manifold” and “camshaft,” which are all sorts of things that no one has ever actually seen before, but apparently are “in there somewhere” and crucial for running a car.
But don’t worry. If that’s too much to sort out, there’s always the even more expensive, yet much simpler, automotive dialect I call, “Dealereese”.
Take, for example, this short translation of a typical conversation with a mechanic at a local dealership:
Me: Hi, my car is making a strange sound.
(Dealereese translation): Hi. I know nothing about cars. Please take all of my money.
Mechanic: What does it sound like?
(Dealereese translation): She knows nothing about cars. I’m going to take all of her money.
Me: EEEEEEEWWWQQQUUJJUUUUEEEZ
(Dealereese translation): $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Now you might think I’m exaggerating, but that’s probably only because you have a car that still runs.
In fact, according to the very friendly mechanic I’ll call, “Phil,” I recently learned that my car needed new rotors and struts, a catalytic converter, a timing belt, four tires, eight pistons, more windshield wiper fluid and last but not least, something called brake shoes. Apparently, they were Gucci brake shoes, judging by the price, although while the other stuff seems outrageous, I have to admit that a couple of hundred dollars for shoes sounds sort of, well, reasonable.
And I’d like to say that I mortgaged the house and the car was repaired and that was the end of it. But it wasn’t.
Later that afternoon, I got a call from my new best friend Phil who sympathetically told me that my car also needed a clutch.
Followed by another call where he tenderly told me my axle ratio was off, and I needed new pinion gears.
Each call from my friend Phil cost me another two hundred dollars. So I did what any savvy consumer would do: I stopped answering my phone.
So at last check my estimated repair bill is about the same amount as it takes to run France for a year. Oh, all right. So maybe not for a whole year. But still.
“Hello, Mrs. Farmer?” Phil asked, in a sly tone of anticipatory tension that spoke of more expensive things to come.
“What more do you want?” I cried. “I’ve already given you everything you asked for. Extra time. More money. The best hours in the day. And what do I get for it? Exactly what I started with! And to think I… I trusted you! We’re through! I say, THROUGH!”
“Uh, your car is ready to be picked up.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
So maybe it wasn’t a terribly courageous thing to say. But that’s the thing about life problems and car repairs – sometimes it’s best to just cut your losses and move on.
