TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | JAN 2019 31
By Welsley Turner Franco
Mechanic Ugly
I am a single girl. I am doing the best I can with my life, working hard
to earn my money, pay my bills, and just get by month to month. Can I
buy Tide vs. Unknown Brand? I can. Can I buy Colgate vs. Generic? I can
do that too. Can I go buy a new 75-inch television? Probably, but that
Visa payment is going to be rock solid hideous. What I can afford is basic
human existence with some fun stuff thrown in so I don’t move back
home to Mumsie. So you can imagine my horror when my transmission
started slipping. Oh hell! I just put $3,200 on my credit card for my
suspension system. I can’t afford this. My truck is at an age where it’s
time for a new everything. However, Mrs. Beefaroni (yes that is her
name) is paid for and I’m going to drive her until her tires fall off. Looks
like that time, but wait…
I am a maintenance freak show. I have been with this truck since
2005 and I know every lurch, giggle, fart, and random noise that comes
out of her. When the hiccups started, I was optimistic, but nervous. I
took her to a local shop in town. Yup. I needed a new transmission they
said. My heart dropped. The local shop doesn’t do transmissions and
didn’t know where to send me, so I called my normal go-to guy who
doesn’t do transmissions either (which just goes to show you what a
huge pain in the ass transmissions are) and recommended I go to a
place in Garden City. Garden City?!! Isn’t that in a foreign country? Pretty
sure I have to renew my passport to get there. EEEK! No. There had
to be something closer. I found a place close by and that’s when it all
went Twilight Zoneish. Let’s call this place “Karma’s a Bitch” for potential
lawsuit purposes.
Google had some good reviews. Granted there were some bad reviews
too, but you can’t make all the people happy all the time and no one
knows this better than me. I called Karma’s a Bitch for an appointment
and managed to get an appointment that afternoon. I took Mrs. Beefaroni
straight there and was reassured by the friendly and knowledgeable staff
and atmosphere, not to mention they have been in business for many
years. Karma called me later that afternoon and yup, I needed a new
transmission. My tranny was not only leaking like a secret on Tybee, but
there was definitely a problemo with my ignition, which may or may not
be affecting my entire computer system. Sweet! But, Karma explained,
let’s deal with one problem at a time. I could get a used transmission
with 94,000 miles for $1,700 and no warranty, or I could get a brandnew
transmission at a minimum of $7,000. My heart dropped to the
bottom of hell. I asked Karma about the price of a refurbished model.
Karma said he would get back to me the next day. I said ok and grabbed
my bottle of vodka.
The next day, all hungover and blurry eyed, Karma called me. A
refurbished transmission was $4,575. It came with a three-year,
100,000-mile warranty. I told Karma I needed a moment to cry and I
would call him back. Yes. I did need a moment to cry. I couldn’t afford
this. I couldn’t. I was stuck like being between a crying hooker and an
angry pimp fighting on this one.
After I stopped sobbing, I called Karma and said that I just flat out
could not afford that. It was time for me and Mrs. Beefaroni to part ways.
A sob shook me. I had been with her forever! I have not only slept in her,
but I have ugly cried in her. If she could talk, I would have to get a gag
order, but the point is that girl has been with me for 15 years. I put on
my unhappy clothes and went to get her. I was going to have to get a
new ravioli. Sniffle.
My neighbor, Mark, helped me out of the car like an elderly woman.
I went into the office and told Karma that I was here to pick up my girl.
I paid $55 and change for the analysis/biopsy. One of the mechanics
asked me if I wanted her brought around. I did and he went to get her.
As I was walking toward my girl, the mechanic was getting into another
car and said, “I don’t think it’s your transmission. I think you need a tune
up.” WTFFF? My face dropped off my skull and I said “Pardon, sir?” He
went on to say that he didn’t want to ‘step on any toes,’ but felt that Mrs.
Beefaroni did not need a transmission. “Please get a second opinion,” he
said as he placed his back to me and went about his business.
Well, I was just flat out stunned. What just happened??? I thanked his
back profusely, climbed into the Beefster and drove straight to my go-to
guy. Gibbering like an idiot, I explained to my tattooed car tailor what
had happened. Bless his heart, he did not bat an eye. I left my guy with
the Missus, hoping against hope that maybe I could afford this. Vodka
to follow…
My tattooed tailor called me the very next day. I did, in fact, just need a
tune up. $455 to be exact. Would I like to pick my girl up today? Through
my tears of joy, I said yes. I would very much like to pick my girl up. We
ain’t done yet, her and I!
The moral of this story is even though it’s the 21st Century, women
beware. Men too for that matter. Get a second opinion. Granted, a first
opinion is a pain in the ass, but there are people out there that just flat
out suck. If it hadn’t been for that guy, I would be buying a new car that
I can’t afford and losing money that I really can’t afford. Hats off to you,
Sir, for not only being a gentleman, but being a decent human being and
doing so at the potential loss of your job. I’m not going to say a word,
because I want you to save others like me. You, my bank account/life
savior, have got good karma coming your way and if I can help you with
that, I am all yours.