Here’s why I’m done with my mechanic.
One, he called me up in the middle of the day (let’s remember that I had just had my car in there to have the front brakes fixed and oil changed and whatever other crap they did) to say that I need two new front tires and to have my car aligned.
Then he calls back and says no, wait, I need a whole new wheel, because mine is broken.
That’ll be $250.
Yes, those fuckers wanted me to sink another $500 into my car in the Month of May.
I say, “No, don’t do anything. Don’t touch it. Put it back together, I’m coming to get it.”
My plan now is to take it to Mack, and let him deal with it while I sob in his bathroom and drink his booze.
But I show up to get my car and my mechanic is all like, “I wouldn’t drive it. It’s worse than it was.”
And I’m all immediately Jessica Fletcher on his ass, “Worse than it was?”
And he’s all, “I just mean that it’s going to get worse. You can’t just hope that it’ll stay this bad. That metal could, at any point, puncture the tire and cause a big blow out.”
America. My aluminum rim is broken. It was not broken before I took it in to them so that they could change my oil, which turned into the brake job and something else that’s slipping my mind… Oh the mysterious missing coolant… that set me back $500.
So, worse than it was. Again, was when? Because it didn’t mysteriously grow worse sitting in their parking lot.
No, I suspect that they broke it or, shoot, maybe they just bent it and the Butcher or I inadvertently sheared the rest off and don’t recall. But the thing is that my wheel was fine before I took it in and it’s not now and neither the Butcher nor I recall breaking the rim, which, let’s be frank, is not something a girl is bound to forget.
So, I took it up to Mack who then proceeded to scare the shit out of me by jacking the car up, sliding weird metal things under the car, and taking the crappy front wheel and moving it to the back and giving me a good wheel for my front.
It’s clear that the whole thing will have to be aligned and it’s clear I need a new wheel. But it’s also clear that the fucking mechanic might have rotated the tires when I paid him to and thus I wouldn’t have really heavy wear on the front and not so much on the back; the wear would be more even. And I wouldn’t have had to stand out there in my friend’s driveway feeling like I was about to throw up for fear that my crappy car was going to fall on him as he tried to make it at least semi-safe for me to get around for the next couple of days.
Gah. I want to scream and cry and then cry tears of relief and then I want to curl up in bed, with my dog tucked safely up under my butt, and go to sleep.
But I’m kind of wound up so I’m not sure that’s going to happen any time soon.