I initially said no. But then I figured that I could use a second car in case my main one is in the shop or, Buddha forbid, it breaks down for no good reason. Plus, I have the money for it. Finally, my parents aren't here, so what can they do? So I immediately called the guy back and told him I changed my mind, and go ahead with the fix. I'll get it end of day today ... assuming I can trudge down there on my own, braving the blowing snow and cold, all without falling and freezing to death.
But about my parents not being here? There's a good chance they now know I've brought it in for repairs, goddammit. Driving home from the gym I get a call from Mother on Father's phone. She said they heard a voicemail from someone about, and please pay attention to this, a car needing repair on the "passenger side," or something. Just going by what she said, I don't know what the hell she's talking about -- fucking language barrier erupts from the ground again -- and she specifically mentions the make of my main car and not the minivan. But I have to go with the logic here: The guys at the shop called Father's phone instead of mine.
Might need to back up a bit. I don't remember bringing the minivan to The Mechanic Around The Corner. But they have a record of the van there. So either I brought it in unbeknownst to my parents knowing and I forgot that I had, or they brought it in. Either way, they have Father's number. Maybe I'm wrong, but I can see them leaving a message on Father's cell telling them the diagnosis of the pressure test for which I brought in the minivan. He is the owner, after all, so I can see one of the dudes there lazily just looking up his number and leaving a message for him -- even though I made a point, as I was dropping off the van, that they needed to call me, not Father.
You may have sensed Mother's reaction to what this VM could have been: Do not pay them to fix the car. They've always been so fucking cheap when it comes to car repairs: Don't agree to the repairs they say the car needs, then go to some brokedown immigrant chop shop where they'll, like, replace the intake manifold gasket for $10, and then probably they won't do all the things the car needs and instead will do only the bare minimum so that the car can get by. That's why My Fucking Mother freaked out.
Not going to do it. Not going to back out and take the minivan back without the repair to the supposedly damaged water pump. The thought of an insurance car in case my main one fails me was too much security to ignore. (Aside: I remember in a previous blog post saying that I was deathly afraid The Mechanic Around The Corner will rip me off. If they called Father even though I told them to only call me, I could then see them being dumb enough to think the guts of the minivan have to be completely ripped off when it's something else. Honestly, I have forgotten that sentiment right now. I just want the minivan to be fixed. I was acting a lot more cynical in that previous blog post. So, does that make me a hypocrite? Well, that's a fair argument.) But now I have to check in with those guys tomorrow morning to make goddamn sure that if they need to talk to someone, they talk to me and not Father or Mother. And then I have to get to the bottom of who called my folks when they weren't supposed to, and I might rip a new asshole to someone and thus napalm the bridge to a car mechanic that is reachable on foot. I'm praying that this is all a big misunderstanding, but I have to believe that those dumb and lazy car repair motherfuckers inadvertently ratted me out because of their inattention.
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