“First day back!” says the mechanic, who looks well fed, well rested and uncompromisingly cheerful. I resist the unreasonable urge to haul him over the counter and disembowel him with his own monkey wrench. I smile sweetly. Explain the predicament. There is the predictable long intake of breath. They are busy… full up… they’ve not been there for a fortnight after all….
This I know. I have phoned every day. Several times. Left messages on their answerphone. Walked round there to check. Vague visions of possibility let crocodile clips and sharp nosed pliers wander through my imagination, connecting with various bits of anatomy…
I commiserate with him on the workload.
He takes my details… perhaps they will get chance to look at her tomorrow…
I ask politely about his Christmas.
…or maybe today. If they get chance.
At this stage, I barely care. The relief of finally getting her booked in is enough. She is safe in the hands of experts. Now there is hope… a light at the end of the tunnel.
The garage, thankfully, is only about half a mile from the car’s final resting place on my son’s drive, where it has languished for the past eleven days awaiting the end of the holidays. Today, come hell or high water, it was going in. They had to be back at work today. I know this garage; they have worked on my cars before, going the extra mile to keep my beloved MR2 running once upon a time. Other than the expensive main dealers, they are the one place I know and trust this end of town. And I didn’t for one minute think I could risk going further afield.
So it was with a sense of determination that I had put the key in the ignition.
There is a reason I drive small cars. They are easier to push.
A turn of the key wasn’t hopeful. Would the battery have held out? It has been cold. The car hasn’t moved. It turned over, made a sick little noise and went back to sleep.
I couldn’t blame it. But I am a mother… I have woken recalcitrant teenagers; a feat of no mean order. Eyes narrowed, I tried again… catching the smidgeon of life and revving the proverbials off it till the thing decided it could purr after all. So far, so good.
For a whole ten yards in reverse, while I turned her round to face salvation, I toyed with the idea of trying to get her home to the friendly village mechanic. The next ten yards as I headed towards the road, I wondered if we would make the half mile.
The road where my son lives is a narrow one, just wide enough for two cars when it is clear. It never is, of course, and cars parked the length of the street either side make any kind of breakdown a major hassle. The road would simply come to a standstill. Heart in mouth, I turned onto the street.
The car stuttered, popped and banged, the engine evidently exceedingly unhappy and refusing to move above snail’s pace. We made it to the end of the road with some relief. By ‘we’, of course, I mean the car and I. Next was the main road. A busy thoroughfare leading into the town centre. You can imagine my thoughts on hitting that midway through a Monday morning.
We die. And refuse to start. And of course, it has power steering. Or, it does when the engine is running. Push car to side of road… uphill of course… curse… collapse in small heap.
We try again. We make the entrance to the little industrial estate at a whole three miles an hour with horns blaring behind. This is the really scary bit… I have to turn right across the flow of traffic. Traffic, moreover, which is showing a blatant disregard for the speed limit and is charging down the hill like a herd of stampeding gnu.
We make the pavement before we die. Another push to safety. I fleetingly regret the days of legs and stilettos… someone would have stopped to lend a hand… I turn the key and she purrs into life once more with something of a self-satisfied flourish, accomplishing the final thirty yards with every appearance of normality. The smell isn’t pleasant though and doesn’t bode well…
All I can do now is wait and hope …
… and perhaps soak the aching bits in a nice hot bath.
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
They can put a man on the moon and bring him back, but they can’t make a trouble free car!
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To be fair, I overwork her… but I’m lost without her.
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Monday morning mad…..well, slow dash to mechanic. Not fun on any count. Fingers crossed for you…a hot soak, a hot toddy…or perhaps just pulling the covers over your head and making the world go away.
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I shall be hunched over the phone ready to pounce if they get back with a diagnosis. And a price.
Then I’ll need the stiff drink, methinks!
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I hear you…i always feel totally at their mercy once they have my car in there
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At least they have it there now 🙂
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What a drive, but at least it’s there. Good luck.
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My thoughts exactly, Trent 🙂
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OMG, Sue, I was on tenterhooks reading this – and in fits of laughter too! I mean, I know what a total nightmare the whole thing is – but your description was irresistibly funny! Fingers crossed that the as-yet-undisembowelled mechanic will be able to perform his magic. xxx
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And that he remains in said well-packed state… 😉 xxx
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Absobloodylutely – but give the bugger a short back and insides if you need to! Tends to make the point very clearly! xxx
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I have every confidence in their professionalism and ability (they have my business card). I have no doubt they will work their usual magic (it has the blog address on it). And no doubt my baby will return home shortly with a new lease of life and give me mine back. ( And they have my car…) xxx
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Gosh Sue, what a stressful start to the day/week/year…..I hope the long soak revives you. You have a gift at bringing humour to the most stressful of events 🙂
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Not the most restful start, I’ll grant you! The soak I am looking forward to though! 🙂
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I don’t care what my car looks like. I only care that when I turn the key it starts and gets me from point A to point B (every time). I hate cars
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I prefer mine to be clean and tidy… though we don’t always get what we wish for 😉 Other than that it is the reliability that counts and this one has been very good so far, apart from the headlights failing on the motorway… But I love my car. It is not just convenience, but freedom.
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Oh mine is clean and tidy but it is also rusty in a couple of spots
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Mine has its battle scars… 😉
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Gosh, you are a brave woman! Determined, to say the least. Hope it goes well (and inexpensively).
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Just a desperate one, Eliza 😉
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Good luck Sue, 😦 For some odd reason my car always seems to break down right after the holidays too. I guess in a way it’s “lucky” because I at least have the little bit of money I receive at Christmas as a gift that I can use toward the fix.
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Mine ‘went’ Boxing day… and I don’t 😉
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I REALLY REALLY share your pain. Our car has yet to be looked at. I’m grinding my teeth and hoping we don’t get a real snow before we get the car running.
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I gathered you might, Marilyn. I’m getting rather desperate now!
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Ah poor you, that was horrible for you! You aren’t alone, though, I’ve been there too! Hopefully she will be fixed and back to normal in no time!
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Oh I hope so, Ali! Going stir crazy here!
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I know the feeling!
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Wow! That turn across traffic had me on the edge of my seat! The one time a car of mine acted like that it was the fuel pump going out. (On top of a high traffic bridge!) It was unpredictable enough that when I limped it to a mechanic it ran just fine and he couldn’t find what was wrong till it stopped cold in the middle of traffic for him and someone hit him from behind. I hope they find and fix the problem!!!!
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This is a fuel delivery problem too Darcy… they are just not sure yet which bits of the system. Trouble is, they found other stuff too… 😦
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Yay, just what you always wanted. Not!!! 😦
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Bit sorted now 🙂
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