July 8, 2007 at 10:01 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
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And when you say “Daimler-Chrysler,” don’t say it like you say “Chocolate pudding.”  Say it like you say “You son of a bitch!”  Cause that’s what they are, that’s what they is, that’s what it be.My son, as a rite of passage in the world of angst known as Being a Teenager, got a car.  The car was promised unto him by me, conditionally on the sale of another vehicle.  That occurred, and this money was burning a hole in his pocket, even though I actually had the money.
He found a car.  Decent enough it seemed,  and big enough for him to get his six foot eight retarded mass into.  He checked it out, I checked it out.  It seemed okay.  I bought it.
Children, it’s a 99 Dodge Intrepid with the 2.7 liter engine.  If I had any way of
knowing–if there was some device or some service whereby I could search vehicles by make and model and find out more information about them–if there was some way to do research before hand, from the comfort of my own den. . .
If only.  Woulda-shoulda-coulda.
I’ll finish in a bit, when I come back.  I have to run to the store.  But Christ, not in THAT car–
I ain’t a mechanic.  But I have to work on this thing.   I have names for all of my vehicles.  My truck is Fred.  Solid. Reliable.  American.  My little Mazda, a foreign car, needed a foreign name.  He’s Nigel.  This car–right away it started causing me problems, I know I’ll never get out of it what I put into it, and it
seems to require constant attention.  I get a sense of impending dread just thinking about it.  I named it after my ex-wife.  Linda.
I borrowed it from my son to take care of the licensing and inspections and so forth.  On the way to take it back to him, it breaks down.  I have to have it towed back to the house.  By the time I have it towed, it starts, of course.
My next door neighbor, a real mechanic, explains the issue.  Ugh.  In a nutshell, for all you non-technical types, the guy who had it before fixed it, but tried to find a cheap way out.  The replacement part is not the same apparatus as the original.  So get one from the junk yard, fill with putty, and serve. .
.Meaning, sell to the first sucker that appears.
He explains what part I need–a dealer part, of course–and it takes a few weeks to get the money for it. I get it, finally, yesterday.  I spent all day today
trying to get the old piece out to get the new one in.  The problem is, the design of the car.  High-tech, cab-forward, blah blah freakin blah.
Makes for clean lines and tidy styling, but if you want to have to work on it, anything simple requires stripping down the entire fucking engine to get to this ridiculous piece.
As I said, I’m not a mechanic.  Sort of a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.  My dad taught me to work on cars, and the importance of regular maintenance, which falls on deaf ears until you’re my age.  I do my own brakes, always, and most things I can handle.  I changed the engine in my 4WD Jeep about 10 years ago.  So, I know my way around a tool box.
I work on it, I take a break.  I go back and work on it again.  I take a break.  I’m in the garage (my dad’s garage), and using his tools and mine.  I guess their all mine now, but I still know whose are who’s.  My neighbor comes over, checks on my progress.  Not bad.  He explains a few things, tells me to call him if I have problems.
I end up calling him three or four times, to have him talk me through some obscure procedure.  The last time I called him, it was to tell him I got everything out of the way, and still can’t get the fucking part out–can you please come have a look?  Not today, or tonight, but tomorrow, the next day, I don’t know–
He said sure.  All I have to do is get the old one out, put the new one in. . .and then try to remember how it all goes back together.
This thing made me feel stupid (again with the wife metaphor). . .and it made me miss my dad.

And the fucking thing still isn’t fixed.


1 Comment »

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  1. Sounds like you did a damn good job.
     I was wondering if its fixed yet.
    I know an awful lot is going on in your life right now.
    Take care and don\’t get too stressed.

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