Arthro-Pilates and Lupus





Car Repairs… Just Blah Blah Blah

Today I took my car in for it’s annual servicing, and while I have always taken pride in the fact that I am an intelligent, independent woman of the new millennium, it seems that having my vehicle repaired inevitably reduces me to a two year old child in pigtails with a large pacifier in my mouth. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I am a women or the fact that the service technicians can see the huge neon sign flashing on my forehead that says “mechanically challenged”, but listening to these people, usually men, that hold the future of my vehicle in their hands, is like being in a foreign country unable to speak the language and unfortunately for me I don’t have a guide.

After about one hour of waiting and hopped up on coffee, the mechanic comes over to me and says. “Ms Weisbrod we have some unfortunate news”.  As the sweat pours off my brow, I can see the dollar signs in his eyes. He proceeds. “Your heat shield is cracked, we need to repair your AC line going into your firewall, and we are having serious concerns about your Evap system.” All this time, I was under the misconception that I was driving a car, when in reality I have now become James Lovell navigating Apollo 13 back into the atmosphere. The words “Houston we have a problem” hang heavy in the air. I don’t know if it’s the same for men but for us women, the technical language of car repair is something we just don’t understand. A concept I am convinced that mechanics around the world are very aware of.

This phenomenon of indecipherable speak makes it easy to be taken advantage of. It’s as if my brain tunes out and all I can hear is blah, blah blah. Inevitably I end up saying “Go ahead and fix it” because a second opinion somewhere else will only lead me to more blah, blah, blah and is just a waste of time.

I leave feeling bewildered, and more often than not, taken advantage of. And why is it that whenever I am driving away from the repair shop, a new problem arises that wasn’t evident prior to bringing it in. A new noise, leads right back into that foreign land with claims of “Oh, that’s a new problem”.  New? It wasn’t there an hour ago!

One time I took my car in for an oil change and they returned it to me with a gash of paint off the side and my power window in inoperable mode. When I asked them how did this happen they replied with “It must have been like that before”.  And once again I have been reduced to that two year old child, and am being condescended to by a guy named Luigi with a protruding brow, cigarette hanging from his tightly pursed lips, and speaking to me like I am the one with an I.Q. of forty.

When a woman takes her car in for repairs it’s like a man shopping for a purse. We don’t want to be there, it’s a waste of money, and we feel stupid in the process. But I suppose it’s the price we pay for driving a car.

With all that said, I guess I had better go now.  After all, my car is ready for pick up. I can only hope that they haven’t “stirred my tanks” because I am very concerned that I will have a problem with reentry.


©Lori Weisbrod


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