I Love Oil
So my Civic went on the fritz, which isn't a surprise since it's been around since the Clinton Administration. It crapped out on me on the way home from work on Tuesday which was a real barn-burner of a Hollywood moment.
It was one of those big dramtic car problems that draws a lot of attention and always happens during rush hour. The car smoking at a stoplight making all sorts of terrifying noises. People beeping because the light's changed a million times and I had not moved an inch. Some dude yelling. Me crying in public.
But life is better now, because Paul fixed it.
Paul is my Asian mechanic. He's fabulous and sexy and I am in love with him because he is so damned good looking and to be honest with you, he is kind of a hero and I should list him in my myspace profile as just that. You know what he reminds me of? An Asian Marlboro Man. Paul the Mechanic is designed to be sitting on a horse with a smoke dangling out of his mouth, riding off into the sunset to fix another transmission with a toothpick.
Whenever there is a car issue and things start to look extremely grim I always think, "OK this is it. This is the part where Paul tells me it's going to cost $86,000 dollars to fix some tube that has to be mail ordered from Malaysia."
But it never happens. It's always good news. Like a McDonald's straw got caught in the exhaust pipe or something insane and improbable. Six bucks and I'm out the door waving goodbye to Paul in my rearview, while chomping down a McNugget.
Despite Paul's winning track record, when I dropped my car off today so Paul could look it over, expectations were low.
When I returned to the car shop a few hours later, Paul shared with me a little piece of critical car information that I'm going to pass on to you, because I care.
There is such a thing as too much oil.
Can you believe it? I know. I too, was dumbfounded. Flabbergasted even. Why hadn't my father mentioned this 20 years ago when he burned it into my cerebrum to always make sure I had oil in my car? Couldn't there have been some sort of caveat? A--- "and by the way... don't put too much oil in there because that is equally as bad."
Why the secrecy on this one point?
Paul was not pleased with me. AT ALL. He leaned over the grimy Paul-counter and honed in on me with his twinkly Superhero eyes and chastized me. "You had about a quart of oil too much in there. Is was sloshing around all over the place. Was that your doing? What are you doing just pouring oil in there at random?"
Because I have a massive big-girl crush on Paul and didn't want him to think I was a complete moron from another galaxy where we don't drive cars but hovercrafts-- I lied to him. I looked my hero dead in the eye, I blinked twice, I swallowed....and I fibbed.
"What? Me? Oil? No. That must have been my boyfriend. God, he's so dumb sometimes."
Meanwhile I don't even have a boyfriend and it was me who put too much oil in the car and Paul knows this because he's an omnicient and omnipotent car God who can sniff a girly excuse coming from 5 miles away.
I had indeed put the oil in the car, just four days ago. The day before the car problems started.
See I was at 7-11 buying gummy worms and the in-store oil display caught my eye and it was an impulse buy really. I just bought two quarts of motoroil and I dumped them in without even checking if my car needed it. Just because that seemed like an ok thing to do. A little preventative maintenance.
"Well tell your boyfriend to stop putting oil in the car," he said with a smirk, which pained me deeply."I gave you an oil change so it now has the right amout of oil in it. I also dried out the engine and checked your transmission for you. Took it for a spin. The car is still looking good. You should be ok for now. Stop messing around with it Tara."
"That'll be 30 bucks."
I'm going to ask him to marry me.
It was one of those big dramtic car problems that draws a lot of attention and always happens during rush hour. The car smoking at a stoplight making all sorts of terrifying noises. People beeping because the light's changed a million times and I had not moved an inch. Some dude yelling. Me crying in public.
But life is better now, because Paul fixed it.
Paul is my Asian mechanic. He's fabulous and sexy and I am in love with him because he is so damned good looking and to be honest with you, he is kind of a hero and I should list him in my myspace profile as just that. You know what he reminds me of? An Asian Marlboro Man. Paul the Mechanic is designed to be sitting on a horse with a smoke dangling out of his mouth, riding off into the sunset to fix another transmission with a toothpick.
Whenever there is a car issue and things start to look extremely grim I always think, "OK this is it. This is the part where Paul tells me it's going to cost $86,000 dollars to fix some tube that has to be mail ordered from Malaysia."
But it never happens. It's always good news. Like a McDonald's straw got caught in the exhaust pipe or something insane and improbable. Six bucks and I'm out the door waving goodbye to Paul in my rearview, while chomping down a McNugget.
Despite Paul's winning track record, when I dropped my car off today so Paul could look it over, expectations were low.
When I returned to the car shop a few hours later, Paul shared with me a little piece of critical car information that I'm going to pass on to you, because I care.
There is such a thing as too much oil.
Can you believe it? I know. I too, was dumbfounded. Flabbergasted even. Why hadn't my father mentioned this 20 years ago when he burned it into my cerebrum to always make sure I had oil in my car? Couldn't there have been some sort of caveat? A--- "and by the way... don't put too much oil in there because that is equally as bad."
Why the secrecy on this one point?
Paul was not pleased with me. AT ALL. He leaned over the grimy Paul-counter and honed in on me with his twinkly Superhero eyes and chastized me. "You had about a quart of oil too much in there. Is was sloshing around all over the place. Was that your doing? What are you doing just pouring oil in there at random?"
Because I have a massive big-girl crush on Paul and didn't want him to think I was a complete moron from another galaxy where we don't drive cars but hovercrafts-- I lied to him. I looked my hero dead in the eye, I blinked twice, I swallowed....and I fibbed.
"What? Me? Oil? No. That must have been my boyfriend. God, he's so dumb sometimes."
Meanwhile I don't even have a boyfriend and it was me who put too much oil in the car and Paul knows this because he's an omnicient and omnipotent car God who can sniff a girly excuse coming from 5 miles away.
I had indeed put the oil in the car, just four days ago. The day before the car problems started.
See I was at 7-11 buying gummy worms and the in-store oil display caught my eye and it was an impulse buy really. I just bought two quarts of motoroil and I dumped them in without even checking if my car needed it. Just because that seemed like an ok thing to do. A little preventative maintenance.
"Well tell your boyfriend to stop putting oil in the car," he said with a smirk, which pained me deeply."I gave you an oil change so it now has the right amout of oil in it. I also dried out the engine and checked your transmission for you. Took it for a spin. The car is still looking good. You should be ok for now. Stop messing around with it Tara."
"That'll be 30 bucks."
I'm going to ask him to marry me.
posted by Tara Callahan at 9:24 PM
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