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It was time for my vehicle's transfusion ... every 5,000 ... so I grabbed a neglected paperback and headed out for LotsaLube ... or QuikJunk ... or FastJuice ... or whatever the place was that was named after both speed and lubrication. I try to treat my car well, but handling routine maintenance is like calling a wedding planner in May to handle your June nuptials.For years, I took my vehicles to the dealership-slash-orphanage from whence I purchased-slash-adopted them. My father was a firm believer in the power of the dealership, always spouting "it may cost a little more at the dealership, but those guys know what the hell they're doing!" Actually, it costs a good deal more and usually takes three or four days to schedule. And that dealership is the same place where, years ago, I picked out a two-door blue sporty little thing to lease and when I stopped by three days later to sign the paperwork there stood my father and the salesperson with my new tan four-door mid-size ... my Dad had found me a "better deal" and the dealership people went along with it like I wasn't even part of the equation.
So after my father passed away ... within a month, I think ... my cars became a little less finicky and started frequenting the "fast lube" establishments, kind of like going from gentleman's clubs to dark-alley strip joints. And to continue the analogy, the price of admission is a lot less, but the "lube job" is all the same. The only real downside is that instead of a few hours of downtime, I often spend the better part of a day there in a dumpy chair drinking weak coffee ... again, gentleman's club vs. strip joint.
And now, the "rapid lubes" are on my last nerve about my air filter. There's always a series of questions you are asked when registering for an oil change ... make and model, color, mileage, oil type and weight. Then they want to know if I want to be alerted to any problems with my lights, signals, or tires. No, I think, I want to be an uninformed motorist ... please tell me nothing.
Then they get in their final digs regarding the status of my windshield wipers and air filter. Do I want my wiper
s and/or air filter replaced, they ask. "Only if it needs it," I reply in my most commanding, don't-screw-with-me baritone. Now, I know when my wipers need replaced. When it rains, the water doesn't slide away like it should. Or the gentle "wwwhhhhoooossssshhh" or the squeegee-like action sounds more like a small whale banging its flukes on my windshield to get my attention. One Christmas, I got new wiper blades in my stocking. In later January, a "quickie" tech tried to tell me my wipers needed replacing. I challenged him and I never saw him again ... a different tech checked me out and handed me my keys.
So after my father passed away ... within a month, I think ... my cars became a little less finicky and started frequenting the "fast lube" establishments, kind of like going from gentleman's clubs to dark-alley strip joints. And to continue the analogy, the price of admission is a lot less, but the "lube job" is all the same. The only real downside is that instead of a few hours of downtime, I often spend the better part of a day there in a dumpy chair drinking weak coffee ... again, gentleman's club vs. strip joint.
There's "quickie" shop about 10 minutes from my house. It's usually my go-to spot ... good light for reading, a decent sized waiting area with magazines and usually a daily newspaper, and a few vending machines to help pass the time. But there have been times when I've called and the manager says "only one ahead of you if you come now," and I click off, grab my keys, and sprint to my car like Jesse Owens, and when I get there I'm behind two flat tire repairs, one brake replacement, and five lube jobs. If I stay, I'll be benched for probably four hours ... at least a 3 p.m. dealership appointment almost always had me back behind the wheel by 3:30. In those instances, I usually cruised around looking for someplace else to get my oil "fix."
And now, the "rapid lubes" are on my last nerve about my air filter. There's always a series of questions you are asked when registering for an oil change ... make and model, color, mileage, oil type and weight. Then they want to know if I want to be alerted to any problems with my lights, signals, or tires. No, I think, I want to be an uninformed motorist ... please tell me nothing.
Then they get in their final digs regarding the status of my windshield wipers and air filter. Do I want my wiper
s and/or air filter replaced, they ask. "Only if it needs it," I reply in my most commanding, don't-screw-with-me baritone. Now, I know when my wipers need replaced. When it rains, the water doesn't slide away like it should. Or the gentle "wwwhhhhoooossssshhh" or the squeegee-like action sounds more like a small whale banging its flukes on my windshield to get my attention. One Christmas, I got new wiper blades in my stocking. In later January, a "quickie" tech tried to tell me my wipers needed replacing. I challenged him and I never saw him again ... a different tech checked me out and handed me my keys.Now the air filter I'm not so sure about. I assume it filters incoming air from the in
takes and tries to catch any particulates that could cause problems. But is a slightly dirty air filter that precarious of a condition? When techs (in general) ask about my car's air filter, their voices become hushed and their brows knit in concern. Is it like a bad lung? Do I need to get on a donor list? Should I pay them their going rate or pay ten bucks and buy one off the black market? Change that damn filter ... STAT!
takes and tries to catch any particulates that could cause problems. But is a slightly dirty air filter that precarious of a condition? When techs (in general) ask about my car's air filter, their voices become hushed and their brows knit in concern. Is it like a bad lung? Do I need to get on a donor list? Should I pay them their going rate or pay ten bucks and buy one off the black market? Change that damn filter ... STAT!POINT OF RANT: Cars and people confuse me in equal amounts.
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