Every Last Minute, Every Day.

So I totally caught a cold this week driving with the window rolled down.

But my registration runs out this month and I can’t stand driving around with expired tags because it reminds me of being poor and desperate like I was years ago and I’m trying to be like that anymore.

So despite being sick I had to find a place to take care of my car. Because about a month ago my car failed emissions. And you can’t renew your registration until you pass emissions. (Or spend at least $400 on repairs towards fixing your emissions.)

So a few weeks ago I took my car to my usual mechanic who is cheap and uses non-name brand (cheap) parts and in general doesn’t try to rip me off. I left my car with them and took the bus home. I called them later because they hadn’t called me yet. They had not had time to get to my car and said they would do it tomorrow.

I was all like, “Well, shit dudes, I’ve got things to do. And I need to drive to do them. Leave my car outside and I’ll drop it off tonight when I’m done.” So I did that and left the car there and took the cold ass bus home from 16th & National at 12:30 in the morning.

The next day I still hadn’t heard from them at 2PM. The reason I was waiting for the call is that they have to tell you what it’s going to cost before they go ahead and do the work. So by 2PM I called them. “Hey how’s my car doing?” … shuffle – shuffle on the other end. Hands over the receiver and yelling back and forth. “Hey let me put you on with Al.” Okay. … Hey Al, hows the car? “We haven’t been able to get to it yet.” Are you going to get to before close? “…Uhm. Probably not.”

[WTF?! I'm putting my life on hold, taking busses during a shitty cold spell and these guys are treating my like an asshole for two days!]

I went and got my car. It was weird. The guy was like a scolded puppy. I think he was truly embarrassed. It turns out one of the mechanics had just quit and they were short staffed. That’s fine, but fuck, I’m putting my life on hold here and you’re jerking me around like some dickhead. If you’re overbooked, fucking tell me so. Call me when you can do the fucking work!

So now I was lost. I’ve been using them for the last couple of years and had no idea where to go for a mechanic. I only found them because I left my old mechanic who steadily raised rates on me over four years and finally tried to charge me $358 for fricken alternator that I later bought for $70 and put in myself.

I was totally hopeless. First of all, I never really even have time to look for a mechanic. I forgot how to do it. I thought about going to MIDAS or CarX, but those places rape you up the ass at the slightest opportunity and you always see those hidden cameras exposés about those guys wrecking something else when they make a repair. I really had no idea how to proceed.

Finally this week I drove past this place called Import Minded. I used to take my first car there when it was called Civic Minded and specialized in Hondas. I stopped in Thursday, sick as a mutt, and stuffily asked if they could fix me up.

They were booked for the day but I brought it in Friday, still sick and sinusy. It was in this state that I then walked from the mechanic to a nearby Denny’s to eat breakfast, (stopping in Toys ‘R Us first to play video games). I was confused about the time and I ordered a chicken melt sandwich and since I was at Denny’s, I ordered a salad. It was too early to eat a salad. Or rather, too early for blue cheese dressing. Things tasted weird with a stuffed up nose. And by weird, I mean bad.

I called the mechanic to see if they had a price for me yet. My antihistamines were kicking in and I really just wanted to spend the next hour asleep somewhere instead of trudging up and down 27th street in two coats and scarf, looking for something interesting to do. They didn’t know yet and said they would call me back.

I took the bus to southern Walmart and midway there they called me.

It was going to cost $120 to remove a broken screw that I broke off a while ago and thought might be causing a misfire (which would maybe cause me to fail the emissions test). I had them spray water in the area where the screw was broken and not holding things down like it was supposed to and they said it was not causing a problem.

It was going to cost $150 to replace my Oxygen Sensor which was worn out and no longer working. The O2 sensor “smells” how much oxygen is in the exhaust and tells the fuel injector to use more or less. This directly effects your mileage and the gasses you emit.

They also said that the catalytic converter wasn’t heating up hot enough and needed to be replaced.

I steeled myself. In the past these things had cost me a lot of money. I remember them costing $400. But they are necessary to fix emissions. I guess the exhaust gas goes in the catalytic converter and there is some mineral there that turns into a gas when it gets hot and then somehow the atomized particles in the catalytic substance trade molecules with the exhaust gasses and that changes the nature of the exhaust gases and voila! what comes out the other end isn’t as poisonous to the environment.

“Well, I called around for a converter and had some trouble finding one. There weren’t many to choose from, but we can get you a standard OEM replacement part. It’ll run about $725.”

SEVEN HUNDRED?!

“Yeah.” Isn’t there anything cheaper? “No, sorry.”

They were SCREWING ME! Screwing me! I’m not gonna drop A GRAND on this fucking car! I old paid $800 for it! WTF?! Oh man, I all ready missed my old mechanic. I knew I would have to bring this back to them to fix within a decent price. Even if it was still $700, at least I knew it would be an honest price. There was no way to tell with these people.

The mood was so strange and surreal, here I was: on a bus, full of poor people, hopped up on cold medicine, dressed like a Bedouin, heading to Walmart, arguing about spending $1000, on a car! I felt ashamed and self-concious and wanted to end the call quickly.

Since the broke screw didn’t matter, I didn’t care about it. I sure as hell wasn’t going to okay $700 in repairs, but I didn’t want to be thrown back to square one and STILL need to find a mechanic, and I would be too embarrassed to just come and pick up my car, so I told them to only go ahead on the O2 sensor.

He was disappointed and I could hear it in his voice, but I wasn’t going to be bullied. I think he heard this – actually, I think my cold medicine bleariness cut through any anxiety I might have otherwise felt – and he just said okay, it would be ready in about an hour and a half.

I went to Walmart and tried to play videogames, but the sales staff was a bunch of old grumpy housewives who kept getting in my face, asking if they could help me. I didn’t have the nerve to ask them to turn on the Playstation 3 so I could play NBA 07, because I suspected I would some snotty attitude from them. I was too exhausted from the cold/medicine to endure any of that shit.

Eventually I got back on the bus and the mechanic called to say it was done. I picked it up and he pointed out that he signed the emissions test paper and filled in how much I spent, “So you’re going to try and see if it passes?”

Actually, that had barely occurred to me. Again, the medicine bleariness. I was surprised he had figured me out. I was only kinda long shot thinking about taking to get tested now, but since he sniffed it out, I thought it was worth a shot.

The key to passing emissions is to bring in a hot car. There is an emissions testing place on 24th and St. Paul (EAST) and one out at HWY 100 by Colders (WEST). They are connected by I-94. The key is to drive hard and get the engine temp up to at least the middle. Then you’re engine is used to running and it hot and the catalytic converter is as hot as it’s going to be. The second key is too NOT turn off the car when waiting in line. You gotta keep that heat!

So I drove out to Waukesha, hard, and
then turned around and was going to drive hard back down to St. Paul, but traffic was picking up, and idling in a traffic jam isn’t as good as driving hard on the freeway, so I got off in West Allis and had it tested there.

I bought a sprite from the soda machine and started to drink it. My heart started to pound. I looked and three other cars went through in the other lane and he was still testing mine. That was bad. It usually means that it came close but failed, so the tester tried again to do better.

The kid came in but was blocked by the soda machine. The test started printing out. In the past people have told me right away that I passed. This kid didn’t say anything.

Fuck. I was going to have to pay $700!
And/or come crawling back to my old mechanic, catalytic converter in hand! My heart was totally banging around in my chest. Pseudo Ephedrine and stingy pride are a terrible mix. I was approaching Edgar Allen Poe, Telltale Heart stage, when the kid poked his head around the coke machine and said, “Okay. You’re all done.”

I didn’t understand. That was a terribly curt way to tell me I failed the test. “Did I pass?”

Yeah. “Really?” Yeah, you’re all passed and done. Have a good day.
“Oh wow. Thank YOU. Man that’s really sweet!” (as totally schweet, as in awesome)

I got in my car, relieved and exuberant. As I peeled out of the driveway I was possessed by the spirit of Chris Rock who I’ve been watching all week on late night television due to the incredible amount of shlepping he’s been doing for his new movie.

“Tried ta CHARGE me SEVNEN HUNNAT, got DAMN dollahs! White people are CRAZY! TRYINAH take ALL MY MONNAE! …Got DAMN!”

I went on variations of that for about the next two hours, telling myself in an outraged Chris Rock voice that I should go back to Walmart, cuss out those bitchy white ladies and buy myself a Playstation 3 with $500 of the $700 I just saved myself.

My utter frugality, of course, prevented this.

Since then, I’ve seen Chris Rock on TV two more times. I’m sure the reverb from my car windshield helps, but I think I do a pretty good Chris Rock impression. I made an MP3 of it. I am a little worried that it sounds kinda minstrel/racist, but I think Chris Rock just sorta sounds like that. Imagine that you don’t know it’s me. It sounds less racist that way.