Tuesday morning started off fine until the car wouldn't start. There's always a surreal quality my morning as I try to shake off dream-fog. I have a tendency to wake up, fall back asleep but dream I'm awake, and then wake up again confused as to why I'm still in bed or the alarm clock is ringing again. I had to pinch myself to double-check my level of alertness in between failed starts. The VW's original battery had finally kicked the bucket after 7 years and 128k miles, may she rest in piece. Luckily, Carrie was going to work late so I successfully bummed a ride.
The plan was to switch batteries when I got home. However, it turns out Carrie was worried about the car and took matters into her own hands. Our neighbor jump-started the car since her Prius is apparently incapable (Weird, huh? It's half battery), and then she drove to first one and then two Advance Autos to get the right battery. When the cashier rang up the battery ($150), my wife spotted a big warning/reminder on the screen to "not install the battery for the customer." Thankfully, the people behind the counter knew a pregnant women when they saw one and felt like being good Samaratins. They installed the slightly too-large battery for Carrie and sent her merrily on her way. The first I heard about her endeavors was when I got an email somewhere around lunch or science saying "All done!"
The story doesn't end there.
The next day I drove the car to work. No problems. On the way back, things got funky. I was nearing home when I noticed a few warning lights on my dash had lit up. ABS and a picture of an airbag shined up at me. Strange. For the life of me, I couldn't recall when the lights came on. I don't know if I caught it immediately, or if they'd been shining for a while longer. Perplexed, I kept driving down the road when the engine started to sound off. The rattle was higher pitched than normal and why was my speedometer pointing at 0? It made the warning light easier to see, but I was still driving! I pressed down on the gas, but stopped as I listened to the strange sound of the engine. That's when I noticed my tachometer was dead. Praise God, I was almost home at that point. I pulled the car in to my parking space, and shut down the engine. I let it sit for a bit and then when I tried to turn it on again: nothing. The car was dead, and so was my alternator.
I know more about cars than your average joe by dint of hanging around John and Bill. They got me into the car scene for a while until I decided it was too much work. I still remember John drawing a diagram of an engine on a napkin in the break room at the library to show me how it worked. Anyway, new battery dying while driving meant that it wasn't being charged. Alternators charge batteries while you drive, so it was a simple diagnostic.
Repairs were pricey. First, Carrie suggested the place we'd used a coupon for a maintenance checkup on her car (she didn't want to void the warranty). They quoted $880. Ouch. I wanted to call a stealership (dealership) for a price comparison. Carrie told me there wasn't any point, but I figured I'd feel better knowing how much I wasn't being overcharged and a little research doesn't hurt when you're spending a lot of money. The dealership quoted $890. Hmmm. I started making more calls. The next dealership said $1100. A bit discouraged, I was searching around on google maps when I came across a small specialty shop for VWs Volvos, and BMWs called Viking Auto. There were next to no reviews but I clicked on it anyway (partly due to the name...I mean, vikings!). They quoted me $600 + or - $50 and I was sold. Carrie called up AAA (they are awesome) and we were set to go....minus the fact I would have no car.
Irony of ironies, I ended up borrowing the car I'd just sold my sister. I haven't even cashed the payment check yet. Megan was in Chicago and she told me to take the car for the day. All I had to do was change the plates. I forgot. (sorry, Megan!). The cavalier got me to my training in the morning and back again, so everything worked out fine. The viking automotive guys ended up replacing a worn drive belt and removing some corroded/fried wires that half melted the plastic cover of my fuse box to the tune of $712 after tax. It was funny walking in to the shop and having Watson, the owner's dog, run out from under the counter to greet us. Watson even came out with us when the owner took me out to explain what they'd done to my car. I didn't actually ask if the guy talking to us, David, was the owner, but he was running around with a dog at the place so it's probably a safe assumption. Bottom line: I liked the shop. They gave me a "it's not pretty fix, but it's permanent and the alternative is damned expensive" fix on the fuse box, cost hundreds less than the next guy, and I can live with that.
On a side note: Is it just me, or is complaining online the dark side of blogging? It's easy to think of, tempting to do, a quick release if done, and in the end airs out all your crap for anyone to see. Not smart! I chose this story, because I thought it was interesting (being the main character) and wanted something not whine-worthy to talk about. I haven't written too much about writing lately have I? Maybe this weekend.
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