The $125 Oil Change

I know it is normal practice for women to let men change the oil in their vehicles, I do, even if it means paying strangers money to do it. I HATE those guys, tho, cuz they always try to sell me stuff I don’t need, and I feel guilty for saying no. A while back I bought the filter and the oil to do it myself, and frankly, never did. The filter sat on my dining room table, mocking me, reminding me that I am more or less a lazy sot. It was a very LOUD filter, that one. On Monday, I decided to shut it up. Yes, ok, it had SOMEthing to do with the CHANGE ENGINE OIL light that came on and stayed on, so that I was not tempted to move it until it was done, much less drive it 10 miles to town and drop $40. I gathered my tools and put the thing up on ramps, and was all set.

For the most part, it was no big deal. I had to muscle my bulk around on the ground a bit to get leverage to break loose the plug, but I did it. While the oil was draining, the dog found me. You know, the one who likes to eat cat poop? Did I mention I was slightly incapacitated, with a ton of steel propped above my chest? It is hard to flee poop breath in that position. The thought occurred to me that if the dog got hit by a car, he would be up litter box creek without a sifter, cuz there was NO ONE around to call, and I knew the oil change was not going to be quick. I had to get out and try to find a filter wrench: I had the wrong size. I didn’t figure that out till the crank case was empty, of course, so that meant I was more than a little stuck. I went back in the fence, put the dog in, and came back out, still looking. About that time I heard squealing tires, a thump, and a yelping dog. You guessed it. My mutt had gotten himself hit.

Now, see, every now and then I realize it has been a while since a new cat wandered up, and a week later (usually less), there’s a new cat on the porch. Last summer I realized I never had an orange cat in all the dozens I’ve known, and a week later I found 3 at the dump. Around early January, I was reminding myself how good it was not to have a dog, cuz they’re attention grabbing little monsters, and a week later? Samson. I’m wondering why it is I can’t make a move happen, or love happen, or thinness happen, if I have the power to summon such mind-numbing, energy-sucking things. Holy heck, Catwoman! Seriously?

Samson seemed to be ok. He got up and ran off to the backyard to hide, thinking that I was mad at him because I yelled his name when I heard the hit. There really was no one to call that wouldn’t have taken a half hour to get there, so all I could do was try to finish the oil change and not panic. I walked down the road to the store, made a couple of calls to locals, and sat down in the dirt to think. In what had to have been an Act of God, my (good) neighbor came home about that time and loaned me the wrench, and even poured the fresh oil for me.  The dog had an x-ray and an overnight at the vet, to the tune of $125. He even got pain meds for his trouble. For mine, I got a shower, sore arms, aching shoulders, a stiff neck, and a lighter wallet. Oh, and a lingering scent of 30 weight in my nostrils. (It made me appreciate the horror of an oil spill. Poor little ducks.)

I think I drew the short stick in that bargain. That, my dears, is how a simple little oil change cost me $125. Don’t tell the EPA that I MIGHT have had a LITTLE teeny puddle of crude in my yard after, k?

Jiffy Lube hawkers don’t sound so bad anymore.