I’ve had to use my donut spare twice and the damned thing is almost bald. I drove fifteen whole miles on it. Luckily I work for the dealership, so I can get it fixed it cheap (or free if I can talk someone into doing it as a favor). I’m not too handy myself, at least not under the hood. I’m pretty good at assembling stuff, though. Unlike many men, I read directions, sometimes twice. I’m just afraid I might have to use the spare again tomorrow. I ran over a bunch of broken glass coming home tonight. The parking lot was dark and I didn’t see it.
My last girlfriend doesn’t have a spare tire. I just remembered that, for no reason. I hope she doesn’t get a flat. Or do I? (Sorry, Dana).
Wading in as another blonde, let me say that my daddy never let me do any of that ‘men’s stuff’. Then I got married to a backyard mechanic, and between him, his dad and mine, I’ve barely been allowed to check the fluid levels in my vehicles. So, I got used to letting one of them do it. Even when hubby went overseas the first time, the Dads were always around, making sure I didn’t get my hands dirty. Heck, I know how to change a tire, and have done so, but I’m not anxious to do it again, so that was fine with me.
Now, hubby is gone again, and I’m pretty much on my own for things. So, I’m learning because I want to learn. I just was never allowed that close to a car to learn much about it. And, it makes him feel important and needed to do that, so I let him. Back in July, while up at Vestal Blue’s place, he was kind enough to answer all of my questions <some of which were no doubt stupid to him, due to my having no idea of what I was talking about> concerning auto maintainance. I learned a lot from him, and now have some opportunity to put it to use. <Thank you, dear. You’re a pal.>
On the other hand, being a blonde in a town full of…shall I say ‘other nationalities’ has definite advantages. Never underestimate the power of long blonde hair blowing in the breeze, coupled with a helpless look.
ACK! When I was in college I stayed for summer school one year. Since the campus was nearly dead during summers and summer school is so compacted it’s not a good idea to waste time waiting for buses, my parents let me take one of their cars to school. (I think they really didn’t like the idea of me possibly taking a bus home from a evening movie. I love going to the movies. With boyfriend back at home working, I would have gone by myself.) This car had a small oil leak. One weekend my old roommate and I decided to go up a lake about an our from campus. (Way out in the Ozarks country.) On the way back the temp gauge moved up slightly and I pulled to the next gas station to pick up some oil. So, I’ve already checked the oil to see how many quarts to get, gone in, purchased the oil, started pouring the oil in the whole (without spilling a drop, I might add), and these two guys come up and ask if we need help. I said very puzzled, “No. I think I have it under control.”
I was so completely baffled as to why they had even asked that that I was confusedly telling some people about it back at the dorm. They said that those guys were flirting with me! Flirting? Yeah, that’s the way to impress me. Come up to me unsolicited and make like I’m a total bimbo that can’t pour oil into the oil doo-hickey. Geez!
BTW, while I was living at home part of the responsibility that came with being able to drive the parents’ cars was to help with any work that was done on the cars. I rotated tires because that way I would know how to change a tire if I ever needed it. I had to help change the oil, flush the radiators, all that stuff. I was very well trained at painting the glue on gaskets. My dad said it was just like painting my nails so I’d be good at it. He had me doing that before I turned 16. When the timing chain needed changing once (my fault but don’t tell my brother), my brother acted like he was being nice and just let me drop the oil pan and then put it back on when he was done. I was covered from head to toe in black oil (mostly because I didn’t know what I was doing, and yes I did drain the pan first). Of course, my dad made me clean the oil pan thoroughly before putting it back on. My brother doesn’t like getting dirty, and I always wondered if he was really being nice to me or if he was really giving me the icky job.
I have changed tires, and I know how to check all the fluid levels. I’ve replaced headlights and taillights and wiper blades. I have a fair idea of what most of the stuff under the hood is and what it all does. I firmly believe that the best tool for the job is a checkbook. Why should I get all grubby changing oil when I can HAVE it done for $19.95 in 10 minutes? Just because I’m perfectly capable of doing certain things doesn’t mean I WANT to do them. By the same token, just because I don’t want to do these things, I know I CAN if I must.
Anyone who catches me using “I’m just a girl” to avoid a disagreeable task has my permission to smack me… I’ll probably deserve it.
Gee, whiz! If you managed to read through that long post and couldn’t figure out the words I left out, just let me know. Brain too fast for fingers. Too many words.
SoMoMom, they were TOTALLY flirting with you! Let’s see… attractive girl… hood up… adding oil… wanna talk, don’t know what to say. First thing out is “Need help?” Even if you obviously don’t need it, it’s still the best opener. The could walk over and say “Hey, you’re adding oil!” but then you’d likely just pat them on the top of the head and say “Yes, dear.”
And I would assume doo-hickey means valve cover, and not transmission or radiator…
This post is perfect timing. I woke up for work tonight only to find that I had a flat tire. I usually hate touching my car, but being the self-sufficiant female that I am, I promptly go outside to try to put on my spare. I get everything out of the trunk, pull out my owner’s manual and try to get the lug nuts off. I try and try and try and was lucky enough to have a mechanic that lives in my apartment building come along and help me! He was even nice enough to explain how he was doing every thing, so now next time I get a flat I will be able to change it myself.
Okay, so now you may ask what is my point? I tried. I know nothing about cars and was willing to try, but failed miserably. I think if more people (guys or girls) would explain what they are doing when helping out someone who is absolutely clueless when it comes to cars, more people (woman in particular) would be able to be more self sufficiant.
(Wow, that rambles and makes very little sense. I apologize, I am very tired and have not had the best night, but I think…or at least hope my point got across.)
The first time I had to put on my spare tire on my current car (97 Ford Escort), I was clueless. And I work at the freaking dealership! The jack had to be assembled from like five pieces. It made no sense. Took about two hours, all told. Of course, I admitted this to absolutely no one until now.
Flirting? Yeah, that’s the way to impress me. Come up to me unsolicited and make like I’m a total bimbo that can’t pour oil into the oil doo-hickey. Geez!