previous column next column back to archives
As I've mentioned before, I have an interesting relationship with my '95 Volkswagen Jetta. It's kind of like I'm the parent and she's the child, but she doesn't listen to anything I say and often throws tantrums by refusing to put her windows down or setting off the alarm while I'm driving around the campus green. As a result, I've given up trying to be a good parent. I pretty much just ignore her tantrums or send her off to a therapist/mechanic who overcharges and never really fixes the problem.
I would probably be a better parent if I wasn't such a girly-man when it comes to car maintenance. This is one of the worst things about me. I wish I was one of those guys who knows how to change oil or weld an axle back together. But that's not me. I know how to jump start a car but I don't like to do it because I might touch the clips together and get electrocuted, which might make my balls fall off. Filling tires with air also scares me. I've heard of tires exploding and people getting decapitated. So basically, I want to hold on to my balls and my head, and I feel like a car could remove all of them at any moment.
But sometimes you have to make a stand and reassert your manhood. For me, this happened yesterday, when the Jetta had finally pissed me off to the point of no return. I was going to take her to the mechanic but I didn't have any money. So I decided to become a Car Guy and fix her myself.
The first step in becoming a Car Guy is finding other Car Guys and talking about cars. I went to an auto parts store. A Car Guy who worked there asked me if I needed any help and I said No, because I thought Car Guys wouldn't need help. But then I realized that I had no idea what I was looking for, so I went back and told the store employee, Rick, that I might need some help finding some parts. Rick had a comb-over with lots of dandruff, but he was still cooler than me because he knew about cars.
"What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Lightbulbs."
"Lightbulbs?"
"Yeah. Or no." I looked down at my Jetta Owner's Manual. It was open to the "Replacing a Bulb" section. "Not lightbulbs, just bulbs."
"For what?"
"Headlights."
He asked me what model and I told him that I drove a black '95 Jetta. He directed me to a long line of bulbs and showed me four different kinds. I could buy the regular bulbs, the extra-bright bulbs, the extra-wide bulbs, or the Cool Blue bulbs like the ones Rick had in his truck. I was going to pick the Cool Blue bulbs but I didn't want to seem too eager to impress him so I picked the extra-bright ones. My selection said that a) I was my own man, and b) regular light bulbs were for little girls.
Then we had to find adhesive to mount my rearview mirror back on the windshield. This time I had a choice between the regular kind, and "Extreme Hold" rearview mirror adhesive. Obviously I picked the Extreme Hold. So here's the first rule of shopping in an auto parts store: Always pick the bigger, brighter, more EXTREME version. If there's ever a choice between no chrome and chrome, take the chrome. If you could be bald or comb your hair over the top to hide the blad spot, take the comb-over.
I bought some fuses and a plastic suction cup that claimed to "occasionally remove small dents from your car's body." It didn't sound like a very confident suction cup, but it was cheap, so I figured it was worth a shot - there were a few small dings in the Jetta's doors that I wanted to remove. Then it was time to check out at the register and I had a question about why my windows were locked in the upright position. "I thought it might be the fuses..." I said.
Rick shook his head. "Those cars have circuit breakers that control the power windows. You probably need to reset yours."
"Yeah, the circuit breaker. I thought it might be that."
Rule #2 for shopping in an auto parts store: Always nod and pretend that you've already considered every possible diagnosis for your car. This makes you sound knowledgable. People like Rick will assume that you're a real man, somebody who was good at sports in high school, somebody who drinks six-packs of Natural Ice to relax.
I had my car parts and it was time to actually work on the car. I immediately developed a rule for working on your car: It should be done in as public a place as possible, with loud music playing, so that everyone can see that you are a Car Guy Who Is Working on His Car. For location and soundtrack, I chose my fraternity parking lot and a classic rock station. Ideally, I would have played a Van Halen CD, but my CD player has been broken for over a year and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it.
It was a nice day out so I was tempted to work in Timberlands, cutoff jeans, and a bikini top, but then I remembered that the only people who did that were hot women in Armor-All posters. I wore a cutoff t-shirt and a red bandana instead. I also rubbed black marker all over my hands and forearms so it looked like I'd been working with grease all afternoon. And I stuck a dirty rag in the back pocket of my jeans so I could wipe my face like I was sweating.
The first thing I had to do was fix the Jetta's passenger side windshield wiper, which went on strike about a week ago and has refused to budge from a horizontal position ever since. To fix a windshield wiper, you have to first pop the hood and rev the engine. This prepares the car to be worked on and lets anyone else know that even though you're not working on the engine today, you could if you wanted to. As it turned out, all I had to do with the windshield wiper was tighten a nut. But I did it with my head under the hood so it probably looked like I was changing the roto-fan injection plate or something.
I changed the headlight bulbs too. This was immensely rewarding because I got to have the hood open and I had to take something apart and put it back together again. I replaced some fuses, fixed the rearview mirror, and tried to get the dents out but I think I need a much bigger, more EXTREME, suction cup.
My work was done. I took the rag out of my back pocket and wiped my brow. Lynard Skynard was playing on the radio and I was officially a Car Guy.
previous column next column back to archives
adam@theadamwhite.com |
