Last Wednesday I was still a mild mannered inhabitant of the planet earth, walking zombie-like through my days as an office drone, eating frozen pizza and channel surfing through 118 channels of reality shows and programs that are labeled “comedies” but really just kind of make me sad. Then the muffler strap on my car broke. I looked at it and thought to myself “I can replace that”. Instantly I was transformed into “Car Repair Man”!
Now understand that there are monkeys in the jungles or
that know more about cars than I do. Also know that tools and I do not get
along. I swear at them, they refuse to work the way they’re supposed to and it
devolves into me yelling at inanimate objects until the neighbors calm me down
using cocoa laced with mood stabilizing drugs. But the muffler strap looked
Wearing the cape, fur boots and glittery golden mask of “Car Repair Man”, Thursday morning I jacked my car up to take the rear tire off to give me more room to work. With the lug nuts removed I pulled on the tire . . . and it didn’t budge. I kicked the tire and it called me a jerk. I hit the tire and it called me stupid. Reaching into my superhero utility belt I pulled out a can of WD 40, spraying a generous amount around the wheel spokes. Still, the tire would not move. But we superheroes have a steely resolve. I went back to hitting and kicking the tire with the flailing arms and legs of a child throwing a hissy fit. It didn’t work. By now the tire was laughing at me, telling the brake rotor jokes about my genetic makeup and cultural heritage. I have to admit the tire had good material. It could have paneled with
I reached again for my WD 40 releasing a mighty stream of the lubricating liquid until the tire had no choice but to surrender. As I pulled it off it said in a weary voice, “Tell the left side suspension . . . I love her.” Finally having room to work I took a good look at the broken strap. It was still held on by a metal shaft stuck through a 3 inch thick hunk of rubber. The technical car name for this is “that rubber doohickey”. For removal I had to spray a lot of WD 40 into the hole, grab hold of the strap with a pair of pliers, twist that rubber doohickey 180 degrees and pull like hell. The technical term for this maneuver is “holy shit is this really how you take one of these bitches off this is such a pain in the ass why won’t it come off I don’t want to waste the whole day replacing a $28 muffler strap I have other stuff to do please come off you piece of shit”.
Success! At last the old strap was removed! Angels descended from the clouds to sing me a chorus of triumph while I stood with my arms akimbo, beaming a beneficent light as “Car Repair Man”. Putting the new strap on took less than 10 minutes. The tire was back in place in another 5 and it was time for me to change back into a mild mannered citizen of Earth.
Look! In the driveway! Is it . . . some guy? No! Is it . . . another slightly different guy? No! It’s Car Repair Man!