Customer service
Few things are so disheartening as a sudden, unfamiliar sound emitted by a car in motion. It happened this afternoon en route to a doctor's appointment: something underneath, grating along the road. I pulled over, took a look, and sure enough something was hanging down, but it wasn't the tailpipe.
I found some rope in the trunk and slid on my back under the car, ignoring a tickle of panic. Besides irrational fear of the gas tank collapsing on me, there was dread of another big bill for the car, not being able to find anybody to fix it this afternoon, ruining my weekend plans, not being able to get to work on Monday, and so on.
On August 6 on our way to the cottage, while Kerri snoozed and Brenna was wired to her iPod, Marian and I watched raptly as the odometer on the 2002 Sunfire hit 200,000 km. We reflected on all the adventures we've had in it. The summer of 2002 I was planning to rent a car for our camping trip to Manitoulin Island, when Mom and Dad suggested they lease one with good fuel economy. I could drive it for the summer, and then they would get good use of it driving to and from the city for Mom's chemo treatments. But it was not very comfortable for Mom, and eventually it became my car.
It took me and the girls on a whirlwind tour of the Maritimes in August 2005. It has taken me to Atlanta (2007), and Danny and me to Winnipeg (2010). Several years ago Brenna and I were riding when it was rear-ended.
On the whole it has been a reliable car, but I didn't know how much longer I could count on that. This year I've spent almost $1,100 catching up on maintenance, and feared it was money thrown away.
Kerri, who has worked in a body shop, knows cars. No, she says, a Sunfire is good for 400,000. She has offered to fix a little rust along the bottom of the driver's door.
But when an unknown part starts dragging, the worst-case scenarios come to mind.
The fallen thing was a shiny metal box about a foot long attached to a short length of flexible pipe. I had never seen one before. It seemed to be fine, but the attachment bracket had broken off from somewhere. With the rope, I managed to secure the thing in place for a short trip around town.
After my doctor's appointment, I called Michael's Automotive Service, which has been my main mechanic for 15 years, whenever I could afford to get work done on the car. Did they have time to take a look? Sure, they said, but there was no saying whether they would be able to fix anything.
I drove over. There were just two young fellows left in the garage. One of them, I'm sure, is Michael's son. They hoisted the car up. The fallen thing is an emissions control box. It's important and not important, I am told.
"It's pretty clean under here," said one of the mechanics, with surprise.
I was surprised, too.
"You should consider getting an oil undercoat this year, and keep it that way, if you want to keep the car running."
"I do," I confided. "I didn't know how much longer it would last, but a couple people have told me Sunfires are pretty reliable."
"The engine is pretty indestructible. The body will fall apart long before the engine wears out."
A bolt appeared to be missing. They got another bolt and washer and fastened the box back into place. It was a fix I could have made if I had been able to think clearly enough to figure out where the box belonged. I would have spent a couple hours hauling my ass to Canadian Tire, home again to get a socket wrench, and back under the car on a dusty street, not sure what I was doing. At Michael's, two minutes and it was fixed.
The fellows lowered the car, pulled it out of the garage and said, "You're all set."
"Can't I at least pay you for your time?"
"No, maybe next time."