Why I Am Now Much More Afraid of My Car

Monday, New Year's Day, for those who care, I woke up, eightish again, with three things on my mind: 1) haircut 2) brownies and 3) pee. They weren't necessarily in that order. I think I thought of the brownies first, actually.

I rid myself of the thought of pee in the usual way, with a sigh of relief.

After washing my hands, I went to the tray of brownies to rid myself of that thought as well, but it branched off into another though: What if I scooped some ice cream on top of the brownies and ate the two things together? Somewhere deep in the dark pit that is occasionally my mind something screamed that it wasn't a good idea to eat the combined power of pure vanilla ice cream and moist brownies for breakfast. All of my taste buds and my stomach cheering for the sweets drown out that small voice, but I think there may have been the echo of a gunshot in there somewhere.

Brownies were quickly placed into a bowl and ice cream was carefully placed on top. (It was Breyers ice cream, for those who may be jealous. It was on sale last week.) I sat in front of the TV, turned on another episode of TNG and began to eat. At first I started out trying to eat the brownies and the ice cream in a way that brought them together, but still kept them separate, I didn't want my brownies to get soggy. Eventually, I got tired of that game (and my hand holding the bowl got cold) and I chopped and I mixed the two things together. It was wonderful. The only thing that could have made it better would have been some chocolate syrup, but I didn't have any of that.

Eventually, the bowl was empty and the episode had run its course and the only thought left in my brain was haircut.

As I showered, I considered the possible places I could have my tresses chopped. SuperCuts is obvious and easy and close by, but I don't like the place. They always try to sell me "product" (whatever that means) for my hair. I just want my damn hair cut. And no, I do not want to spend twenty dollars on a five ounce container of hair gel. Did I come in with gel in my hair? Do I look like to sort of guy who gives a damn about how his hair is "styled"? You don't need to try to make me feel bad because I don't have "in" hair. Does it make you feel better to make me feel worse so I'll buy some gel from this store? You don't even get a commission, do you? What do you want from me? You already have my DNA being swept up and processed so you can crack my personal genome so you can better market things to me. Why can't you leave me alone? I gave you my fifteen dollars and a tip for an only so-so haircut because you only know how to do the cuts from the posters and ripped magazine pages that are on the walls, but not a simple cut-it-pretty-short-but-leave-enough-on-top-for-me-to-play-with cut. Just stop it. Please, just take my money and leave me alone.

I thought a real barber would be a good idea, this time. There isn’t any downtown that I know of. Lots of places with "stylists," but no plain, simple barbers. Where to go, though? There are a couple over that way, but that's a lot of driving, and one by a laundromat, which is much closer. I choose the closer one, got dressed, and headed out the door.

I turned left instead of the usual right and decided instead of turning around I'd use the highways. It's about the same distance and I got to drive faster. After a few minutes of driving I pulled into the parking lot near the barbershop and pulled up in front of it. There was a clock that said they'd be back at 9:30. The clock in my car said 9:35. Then I saw a sign on the window. I parked my car and went to investigate. The barber wouldn't be back until Wednesday, as in today. I turned around to my car and saw smoke rising from under the hood.

I've known about the oil leak in my car since I bought it from my uncle and aunt. It's always been there just slowly dripping. It's the reason I check the oil in my car every time I drive more that 100 miles in a day, even if I just changed the oil the day before. I don't remember, though, the engine ever smoking. Even when I burned one up entirely (not because of the lack of oil, but because a water hose melted). I don't ever remember smelling burning oil before the last time my car died. After I got it back from the place and drove it from Cowtown to here, I noticed a burning oil smell when I'd come to a stop and I'd especially notice it when I'd stop and the heater was on. The more I drove it, the worse the smell got.

The Sunday before Christmas, after I met with a friend for coffee (she says Hi to those who she knows and she'd probably say Hi to those she doesn't since she's that kind of a person), I drove the windy road back to my parents. When I got there, I noticed smoke coming out from under the hood of my car and that the stink of burning oil was stronger. I popped the hood and looked. I grabbed my dad so he could look. We took of the spare tire (you'll remember where the damned spare tire is located from this post) and looked some more. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine. We poked around a little. He got greasier than I did, but I figure why grab things in there if I don't know what they're for. We filled fluids. (It looked like the oil was empty so three (I think) quarts went in, but when we backed the car up to a more level position (the car was leaning forward, toward the dip-stick (not me this time)) it was over flowing, go figure.) We tightened hoses. My dad couldn't think of anything else to do.

After letting the car sit for a while, I took my mom up the hill so she could get bacon for broccoli salad for Christmas. (Mom, I forgot to tell you at Christmas and since I'm thinking of it now I'll put it here: some feta in the broccoli salad would be really good.) I could smell the burning oil. My mom could smell the burning oil. When we got back to their house, the engine was smoking, again. Dad's only suggestion was to clean the engine at the self-serve car wash place on Tuesday so we could get a better look at what's going on in there on a clean engine. So we did.

All it looked like, to me, was a wet, clean engine.

I drove my car back from Cowtown that Tuesday night. The whole time I was wondering how quickly I could get out of my car and grab the fire extinguisher if I needed to. I made it back safely and the car only smelled a little like burning oil. It probably didn't help that I had the window cracked almost the entire time, though.

That Wednesday, before I went to work, I popped the hood to take a look. All I saw was a dirty, dirty engine.

On Monday, I popped the hood and the car was smoking like it had that first time I noticed it happening before Christmas. The engine looked just as black. I have no idea where the leak is coming from. The whole time I drove my stinky car back to my apartment, by SuperCuts, which was closed for the day, I thought it was going to go up in flames for sure.

Will I be driving to the laundromat this weekend so I have clean underwear next week? Yeah, but I won't like it.