Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I un-heart cars

Let me start by saying that I HATE cars. HATE HATE HATE them. More specifically, I hate everything to do with the crap that's involved with owning one.

We can never go for servicing without them finding something or other that needs to be fixed. Case in point - went for an oil change this week. The van has 5,000 kms on it. This should be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy (or Japaneesy if you're not politically correct like me). After the oil change, I headed out to Costco. As I pulled in to the parking lot, the van decided to not change out of first gear. Then it decided to not engage drive at all. SUPER!

One tow-truck later, back at the dealership. Actually, before towing, we had to push the van backwards our of the parking spot because it has to be towed from the front. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a strong man... pushing with one hand whilst turning the wheel is not something that I want to ever do again.

I tell dude that the car won't reverse, won't drive. He hops in and magically, the car does a perfect lap around the building. Now I know what people feel like when they have a broken computer and I come over and it works perfectly.

Long story short (and believe me, that was a long day), looks like it needs a new transmission. Fine. Covered by warranty, rental car for free. No nonsense, but just frustrating.

What I hate more about cars is the mechanics. Kathryn and I have a small fight every time something comes up over who has to talk to the guy. She feels that they talk down to her like she's a moron. I'd be OK with that. As a man(ish), I am expected to understand how cars work. So, when he tells me the front sway bar bushings are rubbing and need to be replaced, I have to rub my chin and nod at appropriate times, like I have a clue in the world what he's talking about. He could tell me that I need a new Flux Capacitor and I'd just go right along with it, ignoring his 88 miles per hour warnings.  I've watched every episode of Top Gear, but still know nothing (unless of course, my Lamborghini Gallardo breaks down).

When something is going wrong with the car, I sometimes look inside the hood, like I will magically gain understanding, Matrix-style, of what gasket or plug is messed up and be able to fix it myself. I don't know where this silly notion comes from. Where in our genetic history was the requirement of basic car maintenance a survival trait? Did wolly mammoths have sway bar bushings maybe?

Of course, with the way things are going with cars, more and more is controlled by the on-board computer. So maybe, in ten years' time, I WILL be able to fix the car by writing a little hacky program. Then I'll go down to the dealership and talk down to the mechanic.


No comments: