Like a busy beaver, it's one dam project after another
My poor, beleaguered husband is currently quite pissy because the passenger side mirror of our car was found dangling by a wire this morning even though it was fine last night when we came home from the German restaurant down Myrtle Avenue.
This car really is kind of becoming a headache for him, because he just had to deal with getting the tired changed on it and ended up having to sit for four hours in the Pep Boys place last week because they were, well, incompetent. A manager finally got around to noticing that it shouldn't take four hours to get a tire changed and offered him a bunch of discounts, but yeah, that was unfun for him.
And now this. I don't think it is worth it to buy a replacement car because we only really use it to get back and forth to Connecticut or transporting the cat to the vet.
In my car's defense, it is a good car otherwise and has not had anything outrageously expensive wrong with it.
But yeah, I can see how it is super, super frustrating for him. And I hate that I know so little about cars that I can't be of any assistance.
If I could go back in time, I would literally make either my father or grandfather open the hood of a car for me and teach me what things were and what to do if they broke, even if it's just "call a tow truck, kid, you're screwed". I would even make one of them, or find some car-competent person, to make me practice changing a tire at the very least.
It makes me angry that boys are taught this and encouraged to be curious about cars and to watch their fathers or other men working on cars - but women, who drive just as fucking much, are sort of patted on the head and told just to call a tow truck or to flag someone down for help instead of helping themselves. Grr. I'll leave off the commentary on learned helplessness and keeping women in their place by not teaching them to do things for themselves.
I'd ask Andrew to do this for me, but right now I think saying the word "car" might cause him to turn into the Hulk and start smashing furniture, poor guy.
This car really is kind of becoming a headache for him, because he just had to deal with getting the tired changed on it and ended up having to sit for four hours in the Pep Boys place last week because they were, well, incompetent. A manager finally got around to noticing that it shouldn't take four hours to get a tire changed and offered him a bunch of discounts, but yeah, that was unfun for him.
And now this. I don't think it is worth it to buy a replacement car because we only really use it to get back and forth to Connecticut or transporting the cat to the vet.
In my car's defense, it is a good car otherwise and has not had anything outrageously expensive wrong with it.
But yeah, I can see how it is super, super frustrating for him. And I hate that I know so little about cars that I can't be of any assistance.
If I could go back in time, I would literally make either my father or grandfather open the hood of a car for me and teach me what things were and what to do if they broke, even if it's just "call a tow truck, kid, you're screwed". I would even make one of them, or find some car-competent person, to make me practice changing a tire at the very least.
It makes me angry that boys are taught this and encouraged to be curious about cars and to watch their fathers or other men working on cars - but women, who drive just as fucking much, are sort of patted on the head and told just to call a tow truck or to flag someone down for help instead of helping themselves. Grr. I'll leave off the commentary on learned helplessness and keeping women in their place by not teaching them to do things for themselves.
I'd ask Andrew to do this for me, but right now I think saying the word "car" might cause him to turn into the Hulk and start smashing furniture, poor guy.