Car Sick
As a twenty-something gay man, I never really understood or cared about cars. All I know is that I can drive them (stick-shift by the way) and all I care about is that it gets me to where I’m going, and takes me back home.
Ask me about anything: Where to buy a fabulous top to match those skinny jeans? Where to get that distressed styled blazer for that date with your dream girl? What shoes to wear for a formal gathering? Where to get a great haircut? What accessories to match an outfit with? What’s the hottest novel to take to the beach? What’s the latest hit from Kylie Minogue? What indie movies to include in your DVD collection? Who’s my favorite character in Sex and the City? Or what’s your horoscope? - -I’m sure I can help you out. But ask me about cars? Watch me look away….
Maybe it’s because I never really had to go through the car-maintenance thing, or even cleaning the car on weekends. I had my dad for that. Don’t get me wrong, my dad tried to involve me in the manly ritual of taking the car to the repair shop or to Banaue to buy spare car parts for busted tail lights or stolen side mirrors. Although I went with him on some of the trips, for most of them, I always had a reason not to. Of course, some of those reasons were created just to get out of the I’m-a-man-and-I-love tinkering-with-my-car situation that I dread.
Today, the result of that avoidance has come back to bite me on the ass. When my whole family migrated to the US, my dad left me with the family car. Initially I thought that was great since I now have an instant mode of transportation. I never realized how much work goes into owning a vehicle. Now, I really wished I went with my dad more often, because I could have learned a few things.
Granted, I don’t use the car everyday. I’d rather take the jeep to work since it’s more practical. Let the jeepney driver stress out and curse all he wants at the fellow drivers who seem to lose all sense of courtesy once they hit the road. I don’t want to look like it’s already 6PM at 9AM. Plus I didn’t want to spend on gas, parking fess and the like on top of the expenses I have to shell out for my car’s maintenance.
Still, the annual car maintenance needs to be done, so you can imagine my horror when my Dad gave me a call to remind me that the car is due for a change oil and a tune up. Once I heard those words, I tuned out.
So I kept on postponing the inevitable. Months passed, and I didn’t take the car to a repair shop. But I did take it to shop. Although, I guess it was always at the back of my head since at the first sign of anything unusual with the car, I would panicked and call on my guy friends to ask for help. Thank God for straight guy friends. Fortunately, my non-daily use of the car bought me some time and extended the car’s oil life. But the inevitable eventually came; it was now time to visit the "talyer”. Que horror!!
After asking my cousin Miko, he recommended me to go to the talyer he and my Tito Del take their cars to. So off I went. I met Joey, the owner and he began asking me what was wrong with the car? So I told him it needed an oil change and a tune up. Of course I had to answer him with my voice fully modulated, lest the mechanics and Joey realize there’s a Dorothy in their midst and begin bullying me into getting additional car services. I’d be so intimidated and traumatized I’m sure you’d find me with eyes tightly shut, clicking my flip-flopped feet thrice and muttering the words “There’s no place like home, there’s no pace like home, there’s no place like home….”
Thinking I had done my part, I chose to shut up. But Joey had some follow-up questions. May oil filter ka na ba? May Oil ka na? Spark plug?
Except for the oil filter which my Dad had as a back-up, I had none of the things Joey was asking for. So he began listing it down. Oh shit! Do I get charged extra for that? Do I get a demerit? It’s like ROTC all over again - - without the hot boys.
So off they went to changing my car’s oil, and tuning it up. They drained the old oil, changed the spark plug, and checked the battery. The whole thing was done in a little more than an hour. I realized that this is better than a trip to the dentist. So after everything was finished, I paid for the bill - -which was quite reasonable. And then I left. I was so proud of myself, my first solo trip to the “talyer, and I think it went well. I was so into the manly tinkering-with-my-car thing that day, after the talyer, I went to the car wash to have my car cleaned. Then I went to the Handy Man to buy a car freshener. First repair, now beautification and aroma therapy for Apple - -yup, that’s what I’ve named my car. (Yes, it’s color red too.)
I never really understood cars, but one thing I learned to understand is that owning a vehicle takes a certain degree of responsibility. I guess that’s what I was afraid of all along. Not the talyer, not the oily mechanics, not my lack of car knowledge. More than anything, that’s really the manly thing about cars, the responsibility that goes with owning and maintaining it. Something I realized I shouldn’t be afraid of. I guess now is the time for me to be an adult.
P.S. My lolo borrowed my car for their trip to the cemetery and according to him it over-heated and stalled. I guess I’d be visiting the talyer sooner than I expected. But this time, I’m no longer afraid.
Ask me about anything: Where to buy a fabulous top to match those skinny jeans? Where to get that distressed styled blazer for that date with your dream girl? What shoes to wear for a formal gathering? Where to get a great haircut? What accessories to match an outfit with? What’s the hottest novel to take to the beach? What’s the latest hit from Kylie Minogue? What indie movies to include in your DVD collection? Who’s my favorite character in Sex and the City? Or what’s your horoscope? - -I’m sure I can help you out. But ask me about cars? Watch me look away….
Maybe it’s because I never really had to go through the car-maintenance thing, or even cleaning the car on weekends. I had my dad for that. Don’t get me wrong, my dad tried to involve me in the manly ritual of taking the car to the repair shop or to Banaue to buy spare car parts for busted tail lights or stolen side mirrors. Although I went with him on some of the trips, for most of them, I always had a reason not to. Of course, some of those reasons were created just to get out of the I’m-a-man-and-I-love tinkering-with-my-car situation that I dread.
Today, the result of that avoidance has come back to bite me on the ass. When my whole family migrated to the US, my dad left me with the family car. Initially I thought that was great since I now have an instant mode of transportation. I never realized how much work goes into owning a vehicle. Now, I really wished I went with my dad more often, because I could have learned a few things.
Granted, I don’t use the car everyday. I’d rather take the jeep to work since it’s more practical. Let the jeepney driver stress out and curse all he wants at the fellow drivers who seem to lose all sense of courtesy once they hit the road. I don’t want to look like it’s already 6PM at 9AM. Plus I didn’t want to spend on gas, parking fess and the like on top of the expenses I have to shell out for my car’s maintenance.
Still, the annual car maintenance needs to be done, so you can imagine my horror when my Dad gave me a call to remind me that the car is due for a change oil and a tune up. Once I heard those words, I tuned out.
So I kept on postponing the inevitable. Months passed, and I didn’t take the car to a repair shop. But I did take it to shop. Although, I guess it was always at the back of my head since at the first sign of anything unusual with the car, I would panicked and call on my guy friends to ask for help. Thank God for straight guy friends. Fortunately, my non-daily use of the car bought me some time and extended the car’s oil life. But the inevitable eventually came; it was now time to visit the "talyer”. Que horror!!
After asking my cousin Miko, he recommended me to go to the talyer he and my Tito Del take their cars to. So off I went. I met Joey, the owner and he began asking me what was wrong with the car? So I told him it needed an oil change and a tune up. Of course I had to answer him with my voice fully modulated, lest the mechanics and Joey realize there’s a Dorothy in their midst and begin bullying me into getting additional car services. I’d be so intimidated and traumatized I’m sure you’d find me with eyes tightly shut, clicking my flip-flopped feet thrice and muttering the words “There’s no place like home, there’s no pace like home, there’s no place like home….”
Thinking I had done my part, I chose to shut up. But Joey had some follow-up questions. May oil filter ka na ba? May Oil ka na? Spark plug?
Except for the oil filter which my Dad had as a back-up, I had none of the things Joey was asking for. So he began listing it down. Oh shit! Do I get charged extra for that? Do I get a demerit? It’s like ROTC all over again - - without the hot boys.
So off they went to changing my car’s oil, and tuning it up. They drained the old oil, changed the spark plug, and checked the battery. The whole thing was done in a little more than an hour. I realized that this is better than a trip to the dentist. So after everything was finished, I paid for the bill - -which was quite reasonable. And then I left. I was so proud of myself, my first solo trip to the “talyer, and I think it went well. I was so into the manly tinkering-with-my-car thing that day, after the talyer, I went to the car wash to have my car cleaned. Then I went to the Handy Man to buy a car freshener. First repair, now beautification and aroma therapy for Apple - -yup, that’s what I’ve named my car. (Yes, it’s color red too.)
I never really understood cars, but one thing I learned to understand is that owning a vehicle takes a certain degree of responsibility. I guess that’s what I was afraid of all along. Not the talyer, not the oily mechanics, not my lack of car knowledge. More than anything, that’s really the manly thing about cars, the responsibility that goes with owning and maintaining it. Something I realized I shouldn’t be afraid of. I guess now is the time for me to be an adult.
P.S. My lolo borrowed my car for their trip to the cemetery and according to him it over-heated and stalled. I guess I’d be visiting the talyer sooner than I expected. But this time, I’m no longer afraid.