Fix me!

I wonder if it’s possible for me to walk into an auto repair shop and not have "sucker" written across my forehead in permanent marker. They see me coming... they know that I’ll probably sell my first born (assuming one day I have one) in order to get my tires rotated. I’m their dream come true and I don’t even know it. They could tell me that the fluxcapacitor in the walla walla bing bang joint was broken and I’d nod and pretend that I had a clue as to what they were talking about. I hate when my walla walla bing bang is acting up. I go in there to describe the problem with descriptive terms like, "clunk" and "ting ting ting blop". Their diagnosis is always the same... They can bleed me dry.

I’m not saying they’re all like this... I just have the eerie skill of finding the one bad seed in the bunch. As an aside that’s just the reason people refuse to let me set them up on a blind date. However, I have found that women seem to make better mechanics... well at least from my prospective. For some reason they know that when I make an embarrassingly loud squeak in the lobby of their shop as a demonstration, it means I need a new belt... not a new engine. A good mechanic should win the Nobel Prize in engineering. They should have their picture in the paper and be put on the news as a local hero.

A good mechanic probably doesn’t know how much I’d appreciate them. They rank right up there with a good plumber. I love them... I’m more than willing to fall to my knees in gratitude to anyone of them that crosses my path. The point is that regardless of what job you are doing right now... there is always someone somewhere willing to hand you the shirt off their back in appreciation if you do it well.

"Always drink upstream from the herd." -- Will Rogers