Nothing’s more satisfying than handing someone a pile of cash to do something you could yourself with the right tools. And a hydraulic lift. And maybe a class at HVCC. But after a $500 brake job, you don’t expect to hear a grating noise when your car is backing up. And I did.
SCRAPE-SCRAPE-SCRAPE! What the f…? That can’t be right. Not after my $500 BRAKE JOB! I pull out of the parking space and there it is again. SCRAPETY-SCRAPETY-SCRAPE. Now I’m furious —and getting ready to drive up (street name deleted) and march right into (repair shop deleted) to give those crooks a piece of my mind. A typical guy reaction at this point is to think, “Hmmmm. Maybe I can fix this myself.” Since ancient times this has been the undoing of many fine men, but I stuck my head under the fender and inspected the place where the wheel is connected to the that other thing. Nothing. I dropped to my belly and edged under the car. Well, that’s your problem right there. I reached way back and yanked out a branch that had stuck to the undercarriage. The rest of the afternoon? I basked in the smug satisfaction of my manly trifecta: smart, handy, and thrifty.
