Grown-up life is a constant challenge, especially the part where you own things and you have to take care of them. Well, I’m happy to announce that today I went to a garage and I came out alive. I was also pretty satisfied about the whole experience, which means a lot, since I’ve always been scared of garages.
I don’t like to think of myself as a typical girl but when it comes to car motors, I know absolutely nothing. In driving school, the teacher was supposed to give us a quick explanation of motor related things. The whole class went downstairs to the parking lot, the teacher lifted the hood and started pointing at things. I got stuck at the back of the class and since all the students were taller than me, I couldn’t see a thing. By the time I made it to the front of the crowd, the teacher was putting down the hood and telling us to get back to the classroom. Oh well, I thought. I’ll get a book about it. Or something.
I’ve owned two cars in my life, both of them Corollas (I just had to go and check how it’s spelled…). The first one was a very, very used car and I drove it for 3 years through the crazy streets of San Francisco without ever going to the garage. No oil change, no inspections, no nothing. By the time I gave it to the Salvation Army, it was only starting to have problems. I knew I had pushed my luck, but the idea of walking into a testosterone filled garage with my non-existent knowledge of cars was a kind of humiliation I just didn’t want to have to deal with. I had heard horrible stories about male mechanics who sold car parts that didn’t even exist to their ignorant female clients. « Tomorrow », I would tell myself. « I’ll go tomorrow ».
Now that I live in a colder country where cars are truly put to the test, I knew I had to get over my fear. The 1999 Corolla was making some strange noise, it needed an oil change and it still had the winter tires on. My ex’s dad, who sold me the car, suggested I go to his regular garage. The young garage owner was supposed to be very reliable and he knows this Toyota well from working on it before. « And he likes pretty women », my ex’s dad told me. I tried to ignore this part and made an appointment at the said garage.
The young garage owner was indeed very cool and very pro. He quickly found what was wrong with the car (nothing too expensive) and asked his mechanic to show me the piece to change while the car was still up on the thingy. He wasn’t condescending or impatient and he was very clear about the charges. And the fact that he was pretty cute didn’t influence my positive review of his garage at all. It also has nothing to do with the fact that I’m going back on Friday to get more work done on the car, even though the garage is far from where I live. It’s just that I got over my fear of mechanics, you know, and I better take advantage of that newly found confidence while it lasts.
