The Car Saga

Volume II 

I’m not good with cars. Cars have only one purpose in my mind: to get me from A to B in safety and relative comfort. I don’t buy a car thinking, “Man, think of all the cools things I can do with this car!”. I’m more of the kind of guy that buys a car thinking, “Hmm . . . how much money will this cost me to maintain?”.  

Apparently, because I am a man, I’m supposed to enjoy talking about and working on cars. I’m supposed to casually mention the size of my engine while leaning luxuriously on the hood of my vehicle. I’m supposed to brag about the scars that I have attained while “dropping the tranny, or “putting in a sick, new fuel injection” contraption. It seems to be an expectation that I spend more time lying on the ground underneath my car than sitting in it.  

Sorry to disappoint you manly men of the mechanical breed, but we probably won’t have anything to talk about. 

When I think about “mods” that I can do to my car I think of Bluetooth receivers so that I don’t have to listen to the radio. I think of a nice air freshner, or perhaps some expensive tires.  

When I have to do any repairs to any one of my vehicles, I’m always crunching numbers to see if the convenience of having someone else fix it for me outweighs the ridiculously high cost of mechanic labor.  

In the case of my most recent vehicular acquisition, I was told I needed to replace a few parts for the steering. Some ball joints, and two arms; one of which goes by the name of “Pitman”. I got my brother to agree to help me fix them, he likes fixing cars after all. So I bought the parts and took my new car to my parents so that we could fix my car together. A little brother bonding time, I guess. 

3 hours into it we hadn’t removed a single part that I was supposed to be replacing. Apparently this was expected. . . . SMH

Another curve ball was finding that Chevrolet presses their ball joints on there with a permanent press system, so I was literally whacking my new car with a chisel and hammer to get the dang things off. . . . They did not come off.  

Also, I have been told that the auto parts store gave me the wrong part; so instead of having one of those arms that isn’t called Pitman, I’ve got some steering thingy that I need to take back. And also one additional curve ball I wasn’t expecting, apparently, to remove said arm of the Pitman variety I need to remove the steering control box (or something similarly named).  

No matter what you call it, it sounds important, and my car-tarded mind automitically thinks “Well, that sounds important, I should probably just leave that in there”. But I can’t because I can’t put the tires back on until I get those ball joints off, which are currently half-drilled, half-whacked to bits, but still firmly attached to the whatever-it’s-called that they’re attached to. Probably another “arm” of some sort.  

Gee-crime-a-nilly! I’d rather just take public transit (if that was any good in Utah) than deal with this mess!  

Please, somebody say something that makes sense to me, like API, or CRM. Someone talk about processors or predictive models; or pentatonic scales and the difference between equal temperment and mean tuning.  

I just want to be done with Mr. Pitman for the time being. Instead of crawling under my Chevy, I would really like to just crawl back into my nerd-den. . . . 

I’ll be back when I’ve recovered from my car-tastrophe. . . .   That could be a while. 

Someone say a prayer for me and my hopelessly car-averse brain. Ima need all the help I can get. 


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