I am feeling pretty productive this evening.
I ordered a couple of new parts for the duster,
replaced the master cylinder,
bled the brakes,
and fixed that pesky 'no brake/tail lights' problem.
The best part? No labor costs-but for my own beer and smokes.
I also made an honest woman out of my old girl, and made her road legal.
It is nice to fix your own car.
Something inherently satisfying about it.
Of course, I had my dad's supervision, he digs it though,
we get some bonding time,
and he does no more than drink beer, point, and hand over a wrench or two.
He told me he wants his own project car now... I swear it's contagious.
I have had really good luck with getting parts.
Unlike some mechanics, parts guys build a rapport with you.
They gain nothing for adding unneccesary items to your shopping list.
So they don't.
Once they see you as a returning customer,
they give you more respect, and are more liberal with discounts.
I haven't had 100% perfection though, trust me.
They aren't being rude on purpose, but some guys are just fucking clueless.
Yesterday, a parts guy asked me,
"Nice ride, your boyfriend's?"
Instead of replying, I just gave him 'the look.'
A friend of my parents came by to say hi while I was fighting with a switch.
My face was literally under the brake pedal, and this guy says,
"I wasn't expectin' to see a girl down there." and he laughed. Har-har.
...People, when I am sweating my ass off underneath the dash of a car with black vinyl upolstering, trying to manuever vise grips and a socket wrench in a space half as large as my fingers, fighting with ancient rust covered bolts,
and/or trying to get parts for a 36 year old car at fucking autzone,
please don't fucking annoy me... ok?
It is just not wise on your part.
BTW... expect me to blather on and on about this car, or fuck off.