Thursday, September 2, 2010

Mechanics, and other not-so-vacation-like items.

We got home from two weeks in Oregon last night and of course my car battery was dead. My friends jumped it last night but I only let it run a few minutes, so the battery didn't fully charge back up again. Running late to get my eyebrows waxed, I hopped in my car only to figure out the battery was dead again. I jumped on my bike and pedaled furiously to get there in time. As I laid back to let the lady fix what two weeks of very little grooming had done to my face, she asked if I had kids in school. I replied that I had no kids. She thought that was fine and well because I'm young and have plenty of time because parents that start older seem to do better anyway. I wondered how old she thought I was but decided I didn't want to know. Old enough to be an old parent.

So I rode my bike to the nearest Rite Aid and bought some new anti-wrinkle cream and eye cream and vowed to take better care of my skin while away at fires. I've been using baby-wipes to wash my face at night and absolutely no lotions or creams but I've now switched to daily facials wipes and a night cream. Apparently I'm too old to be letting myself go this way.

When I got home I proceeded to take the old battery out of my car. Along came a man walking down the road who declared "A woman! Working on a jeep! I like that!". I forced a laugh. You would think that would instill in me a certain sense of pride or empowerment. Girl power of some sort. I tell you this: it did not. And here is why. As I reached around the battery to pull it out, my hand felt something soft. Vehicle engines are anything but soft, and I've got scars to prove it. So I yanked my hand out and looked to find a ball of fur stuck between the battery and the wall of the vehicle. At that moment I really wished I had a man to do this for me. Some one to lift this heavy battery out, with the dead animal attached, and carry it to the car place to get it exchanged, and then get his own hands and arms dirty putting it back in.

So I carefully pulled the battery out and peeled the dead animal off with a pair of pliers. After dropping it on the ground, I looked back in the engine compartment and pulled the rest of it's body out with the same pliers. I was throughly disgusted. I have no idea what kind of animal it was but I'm guessing a sort of squirrel.

I put the 40 lb battery in a backpack and pedaled a few blocks to the auto part store. I exchanged the battery for a good one (costing $80) and the guy tried to stuff it into my backpack. It didn't fit right side up so I just told him to turn it on it's side. The lady sitting at the counter offered to drive it home for me. Being 3 blocks away, I refused. She said I better hope it doesn't leak or I'll experience an intense burning down my crack. Reason number two for having a man there to help me out with these sort of things: do good, healthy batteries leak like that? I hoped they didn't as I slung it back over my shoulders and pedaled for home.

Now my vehicle runs and the dead animal is out of my car. It's time to go dye my hair and slather on anti-wrinkle cream. By the way, I may be experiencing arthritis in my fingers. I've been off my glucosamine supplements for some time. I'm back on them now. This is ridiculous.