Cars No. 2: Geoff & Jeepers

Is there anything worse than coming out of church and discovering your car battery is suddenly and inexplicably dead? Probably, but add in the fact that you are also absolutely starving (aka “post-church syndrome”) and have nothing of caloric value to hold you over other than a cough drop. And a gross one at that. No, there is nothing worse.

On one hand, church is an awesome place to break down because everyone’s more than willing to give you a jump, but on the other, it’s an embarrassing place to need one. Did my mind wander too much during worship? Did I not take enough sermon notes? Is this God’s way of saying “Sarah! Pay attention! Here and Now!” like the mynah birds from Aldous Huxley’s final novel Island, which I personally thought was a terribly patronizing read and I really hope God has better literary taste than that. (I think he does. There's a reason I am only one of the eight people on the planet who felt the need for more Huxley after Brave New World.)

No, I think it was God’s way of saying, “Hey! You need a new battery! I’ll have it conk out at church so you’re surrounded by a whole heap of people who can rescue you,” cause he’s thoughtful like that. And rescued we were. Bert’s friend/former groomsman J. and his son/former ring bearer C. came to our aid, all for the price of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a can of root beer - my contribution to the “Let’s Fix the Mazda!” party. The boys dropped my dead weight off at the house ("I'll call my dad!" is not considered legitimate car knowledge, even though it's served me well for years...), then scurried off to Sears for a new battery. That was enough to get Geoff the Mazda home from church, but not enough to keep him from idling too low and stalling out. This led us - yes, totally including myself "in the know" - to believe that the alternator was on the fritz as well. Great.

Bert took yesterday off to figure things out and spent the morning on the phone ordering an alternator. NAPA could have one by 2, which was great because it meant we spent the entire morning enjoying the absolutely gorgeous weather. (I had to turn the heat on in the car this morning. SO excited about winter!!!) Geoff made it to NAPA alright, so after we picked up the alternator, we drove over to Advance Auto to make sure we even needed it. And that's where we heard the best news we'd heard all day: "Your alternator is fine."

Sweet. We returned the alternator and went back to Sears to have them check the entire system over again. They confirmed that we were good to go. Apparently, newer cars take 25-30 miles to "reboot" when the battery is changed (They must be running Windows...), so that's why Geoff stalled. And we need a tune-up, which we already knew. Huzzah! We splurged at Sonic to celebrate. (In the budget? No. But neither was the alternator. And $6 is a lot less than $264. ;) The Sears service department at the Wyoming Valley Mall is awesome. A little slow sometimes, yes, but awesome. 10 points. Gold star. Highly recommended.

When we got home, some Jeep parts Bert ordered last week had arrived in the mail, so instead of working on Geoff, he got to spend the afternoon working on the car that really needs the TLC. Poor Jeepers... He's been ill for awhile now, but needs to be on the mend before winter. (He's got a hot date with a garage in Connecticut if we can manage to get him up there.) But miracle of miracles, the car that is only two years younger than its owners was racing around the block in less than two hours, causing Bert to go into a Jeremy Clarkson-esque fit of glee at his ability to mend things. He is not on-par with "the world's least practical man" by any means, but the giddiness must be a universal man thing. But for the first time in a long time, both Carlton Cars are working. And I can definitely be giddy about that.

Cars No. 1

Being a trophy wife is not all fun and games. (Although, I won’t lie. It comes pretty darn close. Mama V. ain’t no fool.) The very fact that I don’t have to report to anyone for a good majority of the day makes me a prime candidate for what I like to call “9-5 Tasks.” This includes anything to do with the post office, bank, and my personal least favorite, taking care of the car.

Let me be frank. The sum of my personal knowledge concerning automobiles amounts primarily to the list of things I’ve learned over the years not to hit: rocks, road signs, deer, 18 wheelers, garage doors, etc., etc., et. al.(I’ve also learned that by the time your oil light comes on, you’re already dead in the water, which I think is a very mean-spirited design flaw on the part of all automakers. Come on! I don’t even get a warning?!) I know nothing about cars, they know nothing about me, and we’ve maintained this frienemy state of affairs quite happily for some time now.

Until now. Until AAMCO Dan.

Pennsylvania does not believe in paving roads, so – as you can imagine – the Mazda took quite a few pot(hole)shots this winter. This alone would probably call for some sort of appointment I don’t understand, but the Mazda’s issues are also exacerbated by its special “I’m from Georgia and can only drive in sunshine and sprinkles” suspension. (Bert’s words, my translation.) I’m not sure what makes it different, but let me tell you: every time I hit a hole in that thing I feel like I’m about to loose a molar. Oy vey.

Last week, the Mazda and I were zipping around on one of our daily Fun Runs when the front, passenger tire started making this terrible grinding noise. Like metal teeth crunching metals rocks. Ugh. Nails on a chalkboard. It makes me shiver just thinking about it. I called Bert in a wifely panic and asked him if I was about to loose a wheel and die, because everyone knows that this is something that you can immediately diagnose over the phone when speaking to a frantic woman. (Just ask Click and Clack.) He told me to calm down and drive it home. “You can take it to AAMCO tomorrow.”

Ah, AAMCO. When Bert said those words, it WAS like sunshine and sprinkles. (I can assure you. I’ve been to every Saturn dealership on the East Coast and there were NEVER any sprinkles at Saturn. And look where it got them.) Why? Because when I go to AAMCO, I get to hang out with AAMCO Dan.

AAMCO Dan has changed my entire perception of automobile maintenance and local Pennsyltucky culture. How could I not love a man who calls my husband “Hercules” (because, yes, Bert CAN crack an oil cap with his bare hands) and is not ashamed to steal my purple cell phone and run around the entire premises with it? (Sometimes, Bert would just rather talk to Dan. Apparently, my descriptions of car problems are not always helpful.) He is that rare (to me) combination of local and normal (which gives me hope for the rest of NEPA) and has a much-appreciated knack for diagnosing the Mazda without spending gazillion dollars.

In this case? That terrible crunching sound I heard was just a rock caught in the rotor. Oh. My bad. But we did end up needing a new something, so our hang out time was justified. Next time it will be the front struts. Or maybe we’ll bring Jeepers in for some TLC. Either way, I’m not dreading it quite so much anymore. Thanks, AAMCO Dan!