It's Just A Simple Oil Change!

I love my car. It's a 1988 Buick Century that my grandparents bought and loaned to my uncle. He proceeded to replace the entire engine...and then they made him give it to me. He still wants it back. My grandfather didn't think the Taurus I was driving at the time was safe, cause it had been around the block and back a few times. Anyway, it's in great shape (except fot a small dent in the back- but I didn't do that). My car's name is Harvey, and yes, the car is alive. Harvey has a little quirk; often when the radio is on (which it always is), it starts going louder and louder. I know how to fiddle with it, so it's no big deal. One time, I was driving my friends Meka and Katie and Meka's obnoxious friend Brandon around. Meka was in the front and Brandon was in the back being a horrible backseat driver. I had the local Christian station on, which naturally annoyed Brandon. And the song just kept getting louder....and louder....and louder. Finally Brandon yelled, "Quit messing with it!" Meka immediately defended me, saying, "She's not touching it." I replied, "I'm not doing it. The car just doesn't like you." This scene repeated throughout the night. I found it fun and I'm sure Harvey did too.

I may love my car, but I don't treat poor Harvey right. He's usually dirty, and has loads of food/clothes/books/people being hauled around in him at all times. I'd put off changing the oil for a while, but since I was driving out to the boonies today, I thought I'd better get it done. After all, I didn't want to end up stranded in the middle of nowhere, right? I went to a place I had taken a previous car a couple of years ago. They asked me, "Do you want good sevice, better service, or the best service?" I said, "I want cheap service." They said it would take a while, and I said that was fine. I watched the second half of Ghost Dad, some Full House, and read the paper. After I finished reading, I went up to the desk to ask to borrow a pen to do the crossword puzzle. Reasonable request, right? Well, they couldn't find any pens other than the one they each had. They searched all over the place and couldn't find anything besides markers. I stood there going, "These are the people I'm trusting to take care of my precious Harvey?"

At some point, while I was watching this weird Discovery Channel program, "A Haunting in Conneticut," getting really hungry and cranky, they appeared and said I was almost done. The man then added, "Your tires are really bad. You should get new ones." I said, "I'll have to think about it, I don't know if I want to pay for that." He warned, "While you're here you should. I mean they are really bad." I just smiled and said, "Not today." He sighed, "All right," and walked away, no doubt muttering dire warnings under his breath about what was going to happen to my poor car.

Maybe I need new tires, maybe I don't. But I am smart enough to know that taking care of my car does NOT mean listening to somebody telling me, a young, lone female, that I need something expensive done to it. Especially since my grandfather checked it out at Christmas and didn't say anything about the tires. I'm sorry, Mr. Can't-Find-A-Pen, but I'm not taking your tires. Not today. And I hope not ever.