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Okay, so I’m writing this Monday evening to be published on Tuesday. My head still feels like someone stuffed it full of wool socks and turned the dryer on. My eyes are swollen and there’s something dripping out of my nose that I can only assume is my brain.

Plus? No car yet.

Saturday morning, I bring the car into Midas to have the brakes fixed. The brake pedal was pushing all the way to the floor, so I knew it was an issue.

“It will be about 3 hours”, the manager says. This makes sense – the place is packed. We say okay, and walk over to a place called Mimi’s for lunch. We take our time and then walk back to Midas. It’s only about two miles from our house, so Amy decides just to walk home. I decide to hang out and play with my iPhone. It is noon. I don’t have to leave to go to Britt’s until 7:30 that night. Plenty of time!

One o’clock rolls around. My car sits outside, lonely, pleading for someone to check her brakes and give her an oil change while she’s at it.

Two o’clock. A clean, normal-looking, well adjusted, grease-free mechanic gets into my car and drives it into the bay. Oh wait, the glare of the sun was playing tricks on my eyes. He’s none of those things.

Three o’clock. The wheels are off. I stroll around to the bay and see if cobwebs have managed to grow between my car and the ground yet.

Three thirty. The manager, Ron, tells me that the brakes are fine. It’s actually the master cylinder that needs replacement, and that’s the reason the pedal is pushing all the way to the floor like that. A quick search on my iPhone confirms that this is the possibility, so I give him the go ahead. He orders the part from one of the many part stores around here.

Four o’clock. They’re actually working on it. Three of them are testing the brakes now, with one of them in the car, up in the air, pumping the brakes while the others open a valve on each brake to watch fluid arc like a wino’s pee to the ground.

Four fifteen. The manager is furious. Apparently the part supplier sent them a faulty master cylinder. He calls them and tells them that he needs a new one immediately.

Five o’clock. No master cylinder yet. This Midas is supposed to close right now, but the manager assures me that they’ll stay open until they fix it. One of the other mechanics walks in and informs the manager that he was waiting on a coil pack for a minivan since two and never got it, from the same part supplier. The manager calls the part supplier and says words that even made me blush.

Five thirty. Still nothing. I have memorized every sign and magazine in the waiting room. I haven’t had anything to drink since noon, and I can feel a sore throat and runny nose developing.

Six o’clock. The manager calls the part supplier and gets the manager or owner on the line. He explains the situation eloquently, punctuated with “fuck” and “cocksucker” every other word. I fear that the manager’s head may explode.

Six fifteen. The parts supplier shows up and delivers the coil pack. “We don’t have any master cylinders for that car left”, he shouts as he sprints back to the truck and drives off before the manager can kill him. The mechanic informs the manager that the coil pack they delivered is the wrong one. This time, I really think his head is going to spontaneously combust. He promises me a rental car until they can get it fixed. This Midas has a relationship with the local Enterprise which is right around the corner. He can just call them and they’ll come get me.

Oh wait. They close at six on Saturdays.

Six thirty. The manager has secured a rental car at the Orlando International Airport. Which is forty fucking minutes away. And I get to ride with one of the mechanics all the way there!

Seven thirty. I get the car. I drive a million miles an hour home, pick up Amy and friends, and we head off to Britt’s only an hour late.

Britt’s house: She made me chicken wings! You know, that food that you have to eat with your hands? That I can’t do! I gorge on brownies and pretzels instead.

To be continued once I get my fucking car . . ..

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40 Replies to “Damnshitfuck.”

  1. Miss Britt

    Actually, Emma made you brownies.

    I was going to feed you leftover Halloween candy.

    And those chicken wings? I didn’t make them for you. I made them for dinner, and made a little extra so that there would be left overs.

    You know what would be really funny?

    If I quit my job! In a blog comment!

  2. Amy

    Oh my. Well, after reading Britt’s comments I’m just going to have to say that the thing with your car sucks and I really have to be going now. Good luck with that…

    and by that, I mean Britt. :dance:

  3. hellohahanarf

    damn doc, i am sorry to hear about your craptastic adventure. although i must admit, that midas dude went all about out of his way to help you out. i would have made someone come get you and locked the door behind you. guess i am saying, in the whole scheme of things, you might wanna appreciate that midas manager person.

    happy fat tuesday…

  4. Y2k Survivor

    Wow that is almost exactly like my day, only I’m not sick, my car problem was very minor and they hardly charged me anything to fix it… oh yeah and I got home early where my daughter was already making steak.

    I’m tellin ya dude! It’s like we lead parallel lives or something!

  5. Jay

    Changing out the master cylinder is a bitch. When they finally finish and you get your car back drive it around a lot and hit the brakes hard a lot. Sometimes, okay a lot of times, they don’t bleed the brake lines properly and air gets in there.

    When that happens your brake pedal will go straight to the floor again. Then you will get to take the car back and say all those bad words the to the shop manager that he said to the parts supplier. Then they’ll bleed the lines properly and it will all be okay.

  6. Dave2

    Bitch, please. Can you iPhone users get through a single fucking day without mentioning how fucking great it is to have your fucking iPhones?

    Oh… wait… I own an iPhone and I can’t get through the day without mine, so I guess the answer is “no.”

    Never mind.

  7. turnbaby

    LMAO @ Dave 2

    I’m ALSO still sick god dammit.

    And tell me please—cause I’d really like to know and I’m thinking there must be some new fangled trick you younguns have come up with—-

    But how in the fuck do you eat pretzels and brownies if not with your hands?? Hmmmm??

  8. Avitable

    Britt, well, I didn’t say who made the brownies. They were awesome, too. And don’t be a fucker. Fucker.

    Amy, did I tell you about the time she said she wished she was handicapped?

    Hello, the Midas guy has been great – I don’t blame him at all.

    Amanda, I hate that phrase sooooo much.

    Karl, it takes some serious skill!

    BPR, she’s touchy, what can I say?

    Y2K, it’s eerie!

    Jay, they were testing it pretty vigorously to make sure there was no air, but thanks for the tip.

    Mary, thanks.

    Dave, did you write that comment from your iPhone?

    Turnbaby, it’s different. Chicken wings and the like are finger-stickying foods. Can’t eat ’em.

    Mr. Fabulous, she’s such a drama queen! And the shop is okay, but that parts supplier’s got to go.

    Dan, yeah, the manager has done well. I think I’ll have to go buy a Segway now, though.

  9. trishk

    Poor carless baby. I so feel for you….

    But, I must say, who decided to sit around there all day? Hmmm??? You could have been home responding to comments!! Not spreading your dangerous disease all over Central Florida!!

    Be nice to Miss Britt, I’m her favorite stalker now!

  10. themuttprincess

    I am glad that they are helping you get this taken care of. A lot of places are jackasses when things don’t go smoothly.

    This is exactly why I used a mechanic walking distance from my work, so they have 8 hours to fix it. Even if it is a simple oil change–I tell them to just fit it in, and they usually give me decent prices on everything….

    Hope your head doesn’t implode.

  11. Miss Britt

    “Britt, well, I didn’t say who made the brownies. They were awesome, too. And don’t be a fucker. Fucker.”

    But that’s what I DO!

    P.S. Watched Billy Madison again last night. Expect excessive quoting for the next few days.

  12. Clown

    Is this whole week going to be a whine-fest?
    Really, why haven’t you just been making all of these posts as the baby face from Saturday.

    I was going to invite you over for fried oreos, el-fudge, and homemade corndogs but now I’m thinking your tears would leave a bad taste in it all.

  13. Avitable

    Hilly, yeah, my new iPhone is awesome. And it’s an iPhone! Did I mention that it’s an iPhone?

    Trish, I always stay with the car at the mechanic’s. It’s just good sense! Usually.

    Poppy, well I know someone who got a job through a blog comment!

    Grant, that’s a good idea.

    Metalmom, yeah, I’d do that if it was waranteed service with the dealer.

    CMG, that helps quite a bit. Thanks!

    Tracy, I’m surviving.

    TMP, yeah, this place is somewhere I’ll use again.

    Absurdist, my car’s a woman.

    PP, I tried flashing my boobs. It didn’t work!

    RW, aren’t you writing the Great American Novel? Am I in it?

    Britt, shampoo is better!

  14. Sybil Law

    That sucks. My car is screwed up, too, only no one can figure out wtf is wrong with it. SUCKS to be without one!
    I hope your day gets better.
    Chicken wings are not good. But Miss Britt rocks in general, so I am goign to let her go on this one. 🙂
    It’s prime time for some relaxing and internet porn, yes?!
    Nah. No porn.
    Watch some Dexter! Haha

  15. Miss Britt

    In my defense, I made wings for dinner and decided to make extra for later.

    It wasn’t until my son was bitching about getting his hands dirty that I realized they were “finger foods” and therefore AntiAvitable.

    And as soon as Adam walked in the door I apologized. Profusely.

    You know – I don’t see mention of the sickday goody bag I brought you two days later – FUCKER!

  16. Avitable

    Sybil, she does rock, even if she did that. It wasn’t her fault. And why no porn?

    Allyson, pizza and gyros have that protective bread layer that keep your fingers from getting greasy. I just can’t stand chicken wings or any type of wings or drumsticks. I also cut the corn off of my corn on the cob.

    Bec, I guess it is otherwise pretty awesome. I just want my fucking car back!

    Nina, she did apologize profusely.

    Britt, the sickday goody bag of OJ and soup and broth you made was very awesome and made me feel warm in the cockles of my heart. Thank you.

  17. Stephanie

    I wish my cockles were warm.

    What’s a cockle?

    Sorry about your car…i hate mechanics and car problems and if you would grow some boobs your car woud get done quicker. Oh yeah…and wear a skirt with no underwear. Helps. Swear.

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