Wednesday, April 8, 2009

I hate my car

Actually I hate the assumption by mechanics that I am supposed to know stuff about them.

This morning the little "engine warning" light came on. I wasn't in the car at the time; M declined a lift from a colleague to take my car to work only to have the light come on and some scary beepage from the dashboard and had to get a lift with the colleague after all. I have named it "the orange light of death". Just like the "blue screen of death" but slightly different, obviously.

You'd think that butchy = knowledgeable about cars. Not true. It's got wheels and the engine starts when I turn it on. I also know how to work the pedals. Go me!

You'd also think that oil above half full would be ok. But apparently not. The man said that these things (new cars) need to be full. Who knew? There is nothing in the manual (yes, I was standing on the side or my road with a dipstick in one hand and the manual in the other) that says this. I'm supposed to know these things apparently. The man at the garage (this was our second conversation of the day) said that that was probably the problem and will more than likely be sitting around with his mates at lunch time having a good laugh at my expense.

But it's not all that bad. My mother was locked out of her car outside Morrisons the other day with a trolley-full of shopping. And then again outside school with four children. And then again when she was late for a meeting. Just because the clicky-locky-thingy broke. Snigger.

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