Car repairs SUCK!!

 

Auto Repair: The Expensive, Soul-Crushing, Suspiciously Greasy Vortex of Doom

By Steve Wiggard

Let’s talk about auto repair, which is Latin for “we will now rob you blind and hand you back a slightly more messed up version of your car.”

I recently had to take my car in for a “simple fix” — which is Auto Mechanic Speak for “we’re going to disassemble your vehicle to the molecular level and reassemble it using half-assery (a real term) and duct tape.” My car had been making a noise that sounded like a raccoon gargling with gravel inside the engine block. Naturally, I consulted the Internet, which told me the problem was either:

A) the timing belt,

B) the carburetor,

C) ghosts.

I brought it in to Honest Vic’s Car Palace, which is neither a palace nor run by anyone honest. There was no one named Vic anywhere. I think the mechanic’s name is Mordecai, and he had the facial hair of a Civil War general. Mordecai greeted me by squinting at my engine, grunting like a wild boar solving Wordle, and saying, “Yeahhhhhh… I seen this before. Gonna be a big job.”

This is Mechanic Code for:

1. I have no idea what this is.

2. I hope you’ve recently robbed a bank.

3. You are not getting your car back until your grandkids are grown.

He called me the next day and said, “So I took a look at your car and… well, here’s the thing. The front left blinker is cross-threaded into the flux capacitor, which is reverse-leaking antifreeze into the voice-activated glovebox. That’s gonna be $1,394.26 — cash only.”

I asked, “Will that fix the raccoon gargling sound?”

He said, “Absolutely not. But it might distract you from it.”

I don’t know what any of those words meant. I don’t think he did either. Auto mechanics are trained in a special language that sounds technical but is actually just randomly selected from a jar of nouns and car-related sounds. For instance:

“Your serpentine belt seized up the rotational dampener, which threw off the wobble ratio. Classic 2008 Honda Accord issue.”

WHAT?! That sounds like something a wizard would say while sealing a demon in a crystal.

And the cost. Let’s not pretend that auto repair doesn’t cost roughly the same as a year at Harvard. They always give you a “quote,” which is a number picked using a dartboard and a blindfolded raccoon (possibly the same one living in my engine). Then, after you authorize the repair, the price mysteriously increases by 60% because they found “more issues.” They always find more issues. It’s like your car is a hidden object game for mechanics.

“We replaced your brake pads, but while we were in there, we noticed your muffler was developing feelings for the rear axle, which could lead to co-dependent exhaust issues down the road. Also your windshield wipers have trauma.”

They will keep your car for days. You will call every morning and they will say, “We’re just waiting on one more part,” which is apparently being shipped by turtle. Eventually, they’ll call you back and say your car is ready, but it still makes the raccoon noise, and now the dashboard smells like burnt cheese.

Oh, and let’s not forget the best part: It’s rarely actually fixed. No matter how much money you spend, no matter how many parts are replaced, you will get your car back, drive one block, and a new mystery light will appear on your dashboard. The “check engine” light’s sad little cousin: “check wallet.” Or worse, “check sanity.”

In conclusion, auto repair sucks. It’s a slow, expensive, trust-eroding experience where your car disappears, your money vanishes, and you emerge from it all with a strange new noise and the sneaking suspicion that Mordecai just used your radiator to build a margarita blender.

The only solution? Ride a bike. Or better yet, marry someone who owns a tow truck and has no soul. That way, at least you’ll get the family discount.

Stay safe out there. And remember: If your muffler starts whispering to the carburetor, just sell the car.