Morgan the MotorerIs NoRosie the Riviter

The great thing about having {2} brothers currently working as mechanics, is that I get discounted if not free auto maintenance… Right?

The little sticky on my windshield says June 21, 2009 under “Date of next oil change.” In case you didn’t know, it is now September 15. Yes, this is bad. I have asked both brothers at least twice, and hinted numerous times to change my oil. I’ve given options of switching cars, so they’ll already have it work, or offered to “be in the neighborhood” when one of them is on duty so that my poor car can get a nice drink of grease.

Because my complaints have not amounted to progress, I decided to take matters into my own hands, á la Rosie the Riveter. I heard a Pep boys commercial advertising 5 quarts of oil for only $9.99, so I decided to swing by and pick some up. Any damsel knows that as long as she has the tools, she can find a prince charming to do the work for her (why else would we have brothers, dad’s and boyfriends?).

I arrived at Pep boys and found an incredibly large sign on the back wall that said “maintenance”. {Sigh of relief} I congratulated myself on the ease at which I was able to navigate my way through a store I’d never been in. When I reached my destination, I saw the entire back wall was covered with motor oil. “What brand should I use? What kind of what brand should I use? Synthetic or not?” So many questions flashed through my head. {Cue boy-on-white-horse} I called my brother, and he assured me that I would first need to find the oil that was on sale (5 for $9.99), and then find one that said 5W-20.

Success! After only about 30 seconds of looking I noticed it was literally right in front of me. I grabbed the oil and took it to the counter. The very large, masculine, She-man behind the counter informed me of the 5 quart for $9.99 promotion that was going on. “Yes, that’s why I’m buying 5 quarts,” I replied as politely as I could even though there was a slight hint of callous sarcasm to my tone. She then informed me that in order to get the deal I needed to also purchase a filter. “Well, what kind do I need?” I asked.

She looked at me like I was a complete idiot, and asked with annoyance in her voice, “year, make and model of your vehicle?” Vehicle. It sounded like I was being interrogated by the police. But, this was an easy question, so I told her. She then informed that she also needed to know the size of my engine. “Uhhhh…” I told her I didn’t know and when she listed the options (V4, V6, V8) I realized that V6 sounded the most familiar, so I went with that one. She told me that there were two possible filter types, and asked something about thread size.

It’s been a few years since I’ve sewn or crocheted anything, {let’s see, if the needle size is H, then that would make the thread size…?} But I couldn’t see how this applied to an oil filter. I could tell she was becoming aggravated, so I said, “If I don’t know the size of my engine, I can tell you I’m not going to know the thread size. I don’t even know what a thread is.” She repeated the question, more slowly, and emphasized the words, as if to imply that I REALLY DID know the answer, but it wasn’t clicking because we spoke different languages. As if saying things slow and loud was going to all of a sudden force my brain to decide that I did in fact know what a thread is. {I apologize if I’ve ever done this while talking to someone who doesn’t speak English very well.}

I replied, slowly, drawn out, and emphasized, “I dooon’t knooow what a threeeaaad iiiiissss.” I left this reply open ended, like a question, in case she decided she wanted to explain it to me. She didn’t.

I was tired of feeling like an idiot, so I asked if there was someone who could look at my engine and solve the whole problem. Apparently they don’t do that at Pep boys unless you pay them…

Hmm, I thought of something else! I would call the Fabulous Freddy’s I always take my car to and ask them what filter to buy. The sweet little boy on the other end of the line told me that they use model “P, as in pet. Z, as in zebra. 42,” his exact words. I told She-man the good news. She said she didn’t know what PZ-42 meant, and I needed to ask him the thread size. {What is with her and thread size?} I did, and he replied he didn’t know what thread size was. GREAT!

I told She-man that this is more trouble than it was worth, so I was just going to leave and forget it. She then suggested that I just pick one of the filters to purchase with my oil in order to get the promotional price, and if it turns out to be the wrong one, I could bring it back.

Oh-em-gee! This has to be the best customer service solution I’ve ever heard! “I don’t know, so why don’t you waste your time, energy, gas, and money because it’s no skin off my nose if you have to make another trip down here.” {Awesome}

With that, I informed her that she would need to put the 5 quarts of oil back on the shelf because I’d had enough, and walked out of the store.