What I did do, this weekend, was yell at my car. Specifically, at the starter, which went out again for the 5th time in 8 years. The starter, for those not in the know, is a little motor that kick starts the engine, allowing it to turn over. Mine failed in the Safeway parking lot, leaving me unable to start my car.
For starters (pun completely intended) the car in question is a '95 Taurus SHO. S-H-O stands for Super High Output, because it has a big beefy Yamaha engine in it. So basically, there's the little hamster engine that's in the standard Taurus...
And then there's the SHO.
I think he's been taking steroids.
Anyhow, I was stuck in the Safeway parking lot, with a car that wouldn't start, and it was frustrating because the engine was perfectly fine; it's just the starter that was toast. I was yelling at the engine--hey, just start for me once, just until we get home, okay?--but it refused to listen to me.
A little trick I've learned, from having a car that eats through starters like Jessica Simpson eats through a bag of Krispy Kremes, is that you can push start it. What you do is get a friend to push the car while you hold in the clutch, and when it gets up to a reasonable speed (5 mph) you let out the clutch, sharply, and give it some gas. The car will start.
If you don't have a friend with you, then you get to push the car by yourself, run as fast as you can up to the driver side door, flop inside, and try to start it, all in one go. You also get to look like a fucking retard to anyone watching, which is always a mysteriously huge amount when your car breaks down.
I started off by pushing the car alllll the way to the back of the parking lot, leaving me a lot of room to push it. Then, while everyone stood and watched like slack-jawed, brain-dead morons, I proceeded to push my car a few hundred feet, try to hop in--nope, wouldn't start--cuss my brains out... and then push it all the way back to try it again. Lather, rinse, repeat. Not surprisingly, it's hard to get a 3,300 lb car up to speed by yourself when you're 1/20th the size. It's even harder when the useless bystanders all around you grab their bags of popcorn and watch you like you're must see TV instead of asking if you need help.
|Thanks for the help you useless fucktards|
After about the 5th attempt, a Mexican man sitting in a pedophile van came to ask me... um... I have no idea what the fuck he was asking me. He only spoke Spanish, and I only speak English and German (why the fuck did I spend 4 years in high school learning this? Oh, right, because of my killer Hitler impersonation. STILL WORTH IT).
I didn't understand a word this nice Mexican man was saying. And see, the thing about talking to someone who doesn't speak your language is that you use a lot of hand gestures. And you keep saying the same words, like maybe he'll understand 'starter' if you say 'el starter' or 'el starter-o.' You end up looking like 2 monkeys trying to squawk at each other over the last banana.
I gave up on him, gave my car one last triumphant push across the lot, hoofed it up to the driver's seat, and when I threw myself in and kicked out the clutch, the hamster roared to life. My car was started! ... and no thanks to the yokels that had all gathered like I was the world's worst street performer.
Later, I yanked out the starter and took it to Checker Auto Parts to swap it out. The guy behind the counter was fat... amusingly fat. He was fat to the point of being morbidly obese. The kind where he had those deep, labored, Darth Vader breaths even when he wasn't doing anything.
Of course, after working on my car for an hour, I wasn't looking much better. But at least it runs now.
Stay classy, friends,
Beer: I need many. Stat.
Shower: I need many. Stat.
|The 'Beast' when it's functioning|