April 30, 2014 Article

The Old Coot gets his car inspected.

By Merlin Lessler

Joe! Joe! Can you squeeze me in? My car inspection is due today.  I won’t mention Joe’s last name; he’s a little irritated with me at the moment. It’s Joe Sellars of Hilltop Service Center.

 I don’t know, he responds. I’m pretty booked up, and three of these cars have to leave for a trip out of town at 6AM tomorrow morning.

Oh come on Joe; it’s just an inspection. You can work it in. He finally agrees (just to get rid of me).  I toss him the keys and scramble out the door. I forget to mention that the check engine light is on, hidden behind a piece of black electrical tape, the left rear tire is bald, the front turn signal on the driver’s side isn’t working and the cars smells like exhaust when you stop for a red light.

Joe walks back into his shop, mumbling Old Coot something under his breath. Marty picks his head up and asks, What did you say?

Nothing, Joe replies. Just talking to myself. Then Marty spots my car out front. Is that the Old Coot’s car? It is isn’t it? Now we really are in a mess. How could you? Joe has no answer. He crawls under the hood of a car, pulls way to hard on a wrench and his knuckles smash into the engine block. That’s when the phone rings.

You get it, Marty shouts from under a pickup truck. Let it ring, Joe yells back. After 35 rings, Joe comes out from under the hood and goes into the office to answer it.

Did you get started on my inspection, I ask. Not yet, Joe replies. I’ll try to get at it sometime this afternoon.

Change the oil while you’re at it and check the pressure in the tires, I say, while listening to a dial tone.

Twenty minutes later I call back. Joe sounds a little surly. I just wanted to know how he was making out; had he gotten to it yet. He had the same attitude the next three times I called. You’d think I was getting him out of bed in the middle of the night. Jeesh!

So I changed my strategy; I hopped into my wife’s car and drove out to Glen Mary Drive to check on things in person. He still hadn’t started on my car so I hung around to see if my presence would motivate him a little. He stuck his head back under the hood. I did too. And asked him what he was doing, did he need a hand? I didn’t think a person’s face could get that red. He better get his blood pressure checked. I think he has hypertension. I walked over to help Marty, but as soon as he spotted me heading in his direction he scampered under a pickup truck. I could take a hint. I took off.

I called again at 2. No answer. Same thing at 3, 3:30 and 3:45. Finally at 4 o’clock Marty answered. He didn’t say it with words, but I could tell by his tone he was getting testy. He took my number, said Joe would call when it was done, that they would finish it today, no matter how late they had to stay. I called back at 5:00. All I got was a busy signal. Same thing at 5:15 and 5:30.

Joe called at 6:30. You’re all set. I had to put on a new tire, repair the signal light, replace the O2 sensor and fix a leak in the exhaust. It sounded to me like he was taking advantage of my situation, an inspection sticker that expired at midnight. I went out to pick it up. He handed me the bill with a grease-covered, bloodied hand. It was over $200! Wow! I said. That’s a little steep for an inspection! He grimaced and then his face turned beet red. It got even redder when I patted my back pocket and told him I’d have to settle up with him later; I’d forgotten my wallet. He stared at me with a blank look on his face, which had now gone from red to purple. Then, he just walked away grumbling to himself. What is it with mechanics these days? They sure are a grumpy bunch.