Our woes come not as single soldiers...they march in batillions. Or whatever it was Queen Gertrude said in Hamlet.
Because it's summer, and because clearly, God hates me, we are having some car troubles. I understand car problems are not quite as bad as say, coming down with a nasty case of AIDS, or suffering from simultaneous famine and plague, but still, automotive woes are something of a bummer for me.
Three weeks ago, the front left wishbone on Stone's sports car snapped while he was driving it. We've never been so happy to have a catastrophic failure of a critical suspension component. The wishbone snapped at low speed, a mere 2 kms after two hours of high speed driving on a crowded highway. So we were pretty lucky.
Stone rang the dealership, and they dutifully came and picked it up, but sadly don't have a replacement part in stock. Three weeks later, they still don't have the replacement part in stock, and Stone's baby is sitting in the workshop alone and forgotten slowly being covered with a layer of dust two inches thick. My only guess to the hold up is that the new wishbones are being handcrafted by virgins out of pure unobtanium in the NASA R&D workshop. Hope they'll be worth the wait when we get them.
Next, we have my car "Big Foot". For the last couple of weeks, whenever I park Big Foot or return home after a long drive, there is the unmistakable smell of Petrol wafting around my car. I love the smell of petrol, so I didn't really think much of it, assuming the petrol cap was a little loose, or the engine was running a tad rich, or maybe the fuel injection breather needed replacing. (I have no idea if there is even something called a fuel injection breather, but it sounds good)
But the smell kept getting stronger, to the point that other people would comment on it. So today, when I was in Wadi Kabir looking at the progress on the company car re-spray, I asked the guys have a look and see if we could isolate where the smell was coming from. Having checked everything under the hood, and the gas cap, we decided to check out things underneath. With much flailing of arms and swearing, we got Big Foot positioned over the pits, and climbed down, torches in hand to have a look.
My fuel tank is leaking. A lot. Thank god the engineers designed the exhaust to run paralell down the other side of the car, and not under, or across the fuel tank. Again, we are very lucky.
So I rang the dealership, and after hassling with the brainless fucktards that answer the phones for the better part of 45 minutes trying to be connected to " BRAND NAME SERVICE DEPARTMENT", I was indeed connected to the service department guys, who recognised my voice, asked me to stop crying, told me everything would be ok, and promised to take extra special care of me and the car when I bring it in tomorrow morning. They'll even let me go into the workshop when they put it on the hoist, and I can help take the fuel tank out if I want. Which is so sweet, really.
More on this, and other stuff, tomorrow.