Going under the knife

The shop manager at my local garage pulls me out of the waiting room. He talks in quick, muffled bursts and carries a clipboard that has billing sheet with an outline of a car. He points to the tires. I make out only a few words, but I definitely hear tire rotation and alignment. For his pièce de résistance, he points to the engine and mentions spark plugs.

He looks up to gauge my reaction.

It’s a “little game” we play. He spells things out in great detail. I shake my head and act like I’m following along with him. I’ll ask a question or two. I throw out some piece of jargon I’ve heard over the years.

Going in for Pre-Op

He could just as easily be a brain surgeon standing in front of me.

“Yes Brian, we have a key reflection point here. We’re going to take out your Cerebellum, but that’s good news because it means we don’t have to touch your Cerebrum or your Hippocampus, which is all good stuff.”

He takes a long pause and then asks, “Do you want us to go ahead? It will help prevent future problems down the road. If you say yes, we should be able to get you out of here in an hour or so. What do you think?”

I make a face like I’m weighing my options, giving the surgery some serious consideration. I’m not sure what to say. I know my Cerebellum — um, I mean my tire alignment — is kind of important. “Don’t I need the Cerebellum, for I don’t know, muscle movement, balance, and posture, important stuff like that?” I ask him.

Doctor’s Orders

He gives me a Boy Scout smile.

“Oh yea, yea, you need it. We’re just going to clean it up. We’ll give it a new spit and shine polish. It will be as new as a baby’s bottom, sir. And then we’ll put it all back like we found it. Again all in about an hour.”

Does he know that I’m lost. Apparently not.

“You really think you can do all that in an hour?” I ask.

“Oh yea, no problem,” he says waving off my question like the surgery is a piece of cake. He knows he’s got me now. “You’ll walk out of here good as new.”

Giving the green-light

His confidence is convincing. “Sure go ahead.” For good measure, I throw in, “Best to be safe than sorry, right.”

“Great choice Sir. Take a seat and I’ll be back in to get you in no time.”

Now I really can’t complain. The place where I take my car has done a great job. They’ve saved me a time or two. I still have to laugh at the trust they place in me. They give me way more credit than I deserve. Oh, I talk a good game, but my brain surgeon would have had more luck talking to my wife.

I try, but mechanics go in one ear and out the other.