Nothing makes a girl feel more like a girl than asking about any sort of mechanical anything. I raced to Jiffy Lube (there’s a first time for every phrase) right after work, as I was already 4,000 miles over when I was supposed to get an oil change. Hey, how was I supposed to notice that little sticker on the corner of my windshield? That is so not in my peripheral.
Once arrived, I’m greeted by a man in a jacket who clearly mugged Danny Zuko, and he says an oil change is a quick job and I can wait in the lounge. I’m speculative until he tells me the coffee is free and the magazines are fresh. Not 15 minutes later, I’m greeted by the mechanic and facing an internal challenge wondering if I can call him a grease monkey. It was our first meeting, so I decided against it. He’s telling me about my car and I’m nodding my head, vacantly staring at him wondering who set him up to this. (Old math teachers, probably.) Okay he’s talking to me for longer than he actually worked on my car. It’s gotta be $15 tops.
$50?!!!!?!!????. Um, excuse me JOHN-whose-name-I-know because it’s embroidered in cursive on your onesie, I am not made of diamonds. Sensing my distress, John told me my license plate lights were also out, but he had replaced them fo free. “Better to be safe than sorry, especially after having a few beers,” he said. Ugh, John. You’re adorable. But everyone knows I’m a G&T girl.
(Seriously though, thank goodness for John and his Jiffy Lube hospitality.)
My desire to learn about cars reached a forceful halt at age 16 when I realized I didn’t need to know anything. I took my car to the place I always took it when my parents told me to. I didn’t know after how many miles I brought it there, I just always knew it was at a super inconvenient time usually when the Bachelor was on. See, my car and I have been like FB friends. We’re a little awkward around each other because I don’t know much about who they really are, but when the time comes and I’m craving McDonald’s and need someone to get me there…yeah, I’m gonna FB message them and pretend we’re besties.
I thought about oil changes the way I thought about 1st cuts of Varieties: why have them? But do you know what kind of things happen to your car if you don’t take care of it?! It can wreak more havoc than Vodka_Sam in a distillery. Something I’m now face-palming for not doing: ask around! I know we’re all conditioned to resort to Google, but ask around your office to see where they go to get oil changes (or hair cuts… massages… Gateway Market salads for a black market price…) because people have a one-up on Google. They have experience.
So from here on out, I’ll pay more attention to my car because I feel kinda violated when it blinks and makes noises at me to change it. Like, can’t you just be you, oil? Why do you want to change? But cars need a check-up just like we do. Pass the oil can and the credit card – God knows I don’t just have 50 bucks on me.