Naturally, I did what any other person does in that situation -- I looked under the hood. Not that would ever really do any good, you understand. Even if I could figure out what was wrong, even if the problem were blatantly obvious, like little green space aliens ripping out cables from the motor, it's not like I could do anything about it. ("Hey, we got any of that anti-space-alien fluid in the trunk?")
But we don't like to admit to ourselves that we know nothing about a particular topic -- that instead of going out and reading a book on automobile maintenance, we sat in front of the TV eating Cheetos and watching The Nashville Network's 24-hour Hee Haw Marathon. So we look under the hood. It's a Great American pasttime, performed by Great American citizens... usually on Great Broken American cars.
But I felt like I had to at least give it a shot -- so I checked the transmission fluid. It was green, which I figured meant "Go," so I concluded that wasn't the problem.
My next step was to take it to the garage where I engaged in another Great American pasttime of pretending I knew what the hell the mechanic was talking about. Mechanics know that if you have no idea what they're talking about, they can pretty much charge you whatever they feel like, and you have to pretty much go along with it. So you try to convince them that you know more about cars than they do. (Of course, if you did, you probably wouldn't have it in the garage in the first place, but I digress...)
Mechanic: Hmmm... could be the spark wires.So, I'm pretty much at the mercy of these guys and without a car. Of course, up until now, San Francisco had been enjoying an unprecedented spell of good weather. Since then, it's rained continuously. I'm sure that's more than a coincidence. Know those third-world countries where people are starving because they haven't had rain since Kevin Costner was in a good movie? I should just bring my car over there and have it break down... As long as they agree to pay the mechanic's bill.
Me: Yeah, they never looked too good to me.
Mechanic: Or maybe the coil pack.
Me: I hear they can cause problems.
Mechanic: (Getting suspicious) Do you know what a coil pack does?
Me: Umm... pack the coils?
Mechanic: Uh-huh... right. Or it could be the... fallopian tubes.
Me: Yeah, right. Could be.
Mechanic: Or a busted bible belt.
Me: Sure. I thought it was sounding funny.
Mechanic: (Having fun now) Or maybe your rotweiler springs have created a bedpan in the space-time continuum.
Me: That's what I thought, too. So, how much will it cost to fix?
Mechanic: $87,000.
Me: Uhh... okay.
And naturally, this is coming at the worst possible time of the year, because I still have to Christmas shop for people. Luckily, I'm within walking distance of a lot of cool shops. Unfortunately, they're all hip, trendy, semi-alternative Haight Ashbury shops, which makes it really hard to get stuff for my parents. ("Gosh, son, a 'Policeman are dickheads' bumper sticker and a gift certificate for a free tattoo. You're outta the will.")
Yeah, I live in Haight-Ashbury, which used to be a big old hippie paradise back in the 60's. Now, on the corner of Haight and Ashbury is a Gap. To me, this kind of symbolizes everything that happened to the 60's. Remember the whole hemp revolution? How you can make really cheap cloth and paper and... I dunno... aluminum siding... out of hemp? But of course, if you go to a store and actually try to purchase some of this trendy "cheap" hemp clothing, it costs more than most aircraft.
But it's nice to see that in some ways, that revolutionary spirit of the 60's still hasn't quite died. When I walk down the street, there are always kids asking for change. I tell them, "Sure! I'm willing to get up off my butt and change this country for the better." Then they say something along the lines of, "You dumb-ass. I just want money." Of course, there's no way I can help them out with that. The mechanic took it all.