Pick-a-Part

Holy cow, people of Nashville! Have you been to Pick-a-Part? We went today to see if we could get a part for the Butcher’s car and it’s like… I don’t even know. You pay a dollar and you go in and you have to bring your own tools, but there are rows and rows of of cars and people have wagons and wheelbarrows and blankets to lie on as they get under the vehicles and they carry big boxes of tools and you just descend upon the cars like vultures on carrion and you get whatever pieces you might need and you go up to the front and pay for them.

The other day the Butcher’s car decided to treat us to the vision of what Whites Creek would look like if the town were a rock concert and since then we’ve been fretting over how to pay for the part he needed, since he doesn’t have a job. Dad, of course, offered to pay for the part, but you know, you get to be a certain age and it gets depressing to have to ask your dad to cover your car parts.

But our awesome neighbor said to check out the Pick-a-Part before we spent $75 and, since they were having computer troubles, we ended up paying $2–the cost of entry–for the part. It wasn’t worth it to them to have us stand and wait for the computer to come up.

I bet the people with wheelbarrows full of car parts had to wait, though.

I’m sad pictures aren’t allowed, because it’s pretty amazing. I mean, people strip those cars bare. It’s something to see.

And the Butcher’s car seems to be working again. Knock on wood.

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