The mechanics who examined "Bantha" handed me an itemized list of repairs needed, not expecting me to leave the shop, list in hand, and do all the work myself. I was lucky to have found Travis, a coworker who let me attach - er, apprentice - myself to him.
Apart from the repairs list and the loden-green jumpsuit, I had little to offer. But after three hours in the October sunshine with Travis, marveling at the cold asphalt under my elbows and the unpretentious steel chassis above me, I had replaced the following:
headlights
rear brake shoes
over-tinted driver's side window
front engine mount
steering control arm
name - Bantha now answers to "Champion," thank you.
I had also expanded upon my signature look by deciding that henceforth I would lacquer my short, grubby nails red. Whether it conceals or highlights the grease underneath them remains to be seen, but it certainly rounds out my jumpsuit-chic aesthetic.
I returned Champion to the shop for re-inspection. "The engine mount isn't fixed at all," observed their mechanic.
"I replaced it completely."
"Put the car in park and turn the steering wheel. You can see all sorts of wobble..."
"The motion you're describing would have to come from the rear engine mount. The list you gave me says front engine mount."
"Well, it depends on which way you're facing..."
I wobbled my engine mount right outta there. They had the good sense not to charge me for reinspection. For the record, it does not depend on which way you're facing, but on whether it is situated toward the rear of the vehicle.
I'll let you know, but it might take more than scarlet fingernails and a jumpsuit that matches my eyes to get myself taken seriously in the automotive world.
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