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Car Guys |
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Written by Scott Meadow
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Friday, 12 August 2005 (read 2970 times) |
Car guys. I hate car guys. Specifically guys who work in retail car repair shops. Those car guys.
Now I'm a manly type male. I hunt. I like guns. I know crude jokes about bodily functions and human reproduction. I like fishing. But screwing around with cars was never high on my list, although I've done my share and then some. But over time I realized it was generally cheaper to waste someone else's time fooling around with my car than to waste my own. So I was introduced to car guys.
Car guys aren't like you and me, presuming you're a guy which is a 50/50 shot, I mean if you're female then car guys are even more different than you, physically I mean. Car guys don't really like cars all that much. Like a well toned stripper, car guys like money. Lots of money. Specifically, your money. We're talking George Soros style loot. And, just like our stripper friends, car guys have lots of ways of making you give it to them, but, unlike our stripper friends, they only leave you with a hollow, empty, gut-wrenching feeling, much like you get watching a small furry creature die a horrible death before your eyes.
Car guys, for instance, never do what you ask them to do. By some miracle, they always find something else to do. Something much more expensive to do.
Car Guy: Hello, sir. How can I help you today?
Me: Well, my right blinker doesn't seem to work. I'd like you to fix it.
Car Guy: Certainly, sir. Sign right here.
[ 15 minutes and 2 burnt cups of coffee later.... ]
Car Guy: (wiping his brow) Whew, well, sir, seems like you need a new transmission, four new tires, a complete rebuild of your carburetor, 4 new belts, your steering column is cracked and your horn is stuck on so we'll need to replace that too.
Me: ....ahh....how much is that..
Car Guy: Oh, we're looking at about $2,389.14. Do you want to go ahead and get that taken care of today, sir?
Me: ....ahhhhh... not unless you want to learn how to masturbate with your other hand, pal, just fix my fucking blinker.
Car guys also hold you with slightly more contempt than what you'd feel watching a Nazi pedophile strangle Lassie. They hate you, openly. They'd kick you if that counter wasn't there to restrain them. They know you're just another jackass with no appreciation of their hard wrought skills (six weeks at an elite community college will do that to you, I guess), and if you can't completely rebuild a transmission blindfolded you aren't even worthy of being acknowledged as human. Ever see one of those Peta films from a slaughterhouse somewhere? Imagine yourself at the end of that cattle prod. That's you. Trust me, you're yearning for that final electric jolt too.
 Car guys are also timeless, in the sense that they're in no hurry whatsoever to get stuff done. Specifically, to get your stuff done. Some things in life are just more important than work, particularly when it comes to your car. They have time for 19 smoke breaks, time to hit on the cute cashier in the tight V neck, time to take six or seven coffee breaks, grab a candy bar, time to wander through the garage swapping dirty jokes for smokes, time to brew up another pot of coffee, watch Oprah hand out another book review, time to surf the web a bit looking for porn star's websites. Time, you see, time is on their side. And you're paying up to $90 an hour for it.
Now if I'm paying $90/hour for something, it sure isn't going to involve watching some guy covered in grease poking clumsily at my car in a desperate attempt to pad the bill a little more. It may involve watching someone covered in grease, certainly oil, but she won't be fixing my car.
But it would be a bonus if she could, come to think of it....
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Monkey Pile 
