I'm irritated that I don't know anything about cars.
I'm even more irritated that the guys at Jiffy Lube know I don't know anything about cars.
The worst part is that I can't even fake it. This is very disheartening for a girl who pretends to know a lot about a lot. Who can name every state capital and actually has a master's degree, but can't change her own tire.
Once in a while I'm reminded of how little I know about my trusty 11-year-old SUV.
Like today.
Today, I needed to get an oil change. My car (at close to 120,000 miles) was way overdue. Like, 3,000 miles overdue. The silver bullet's still got some miles left in 'er, but she needs some high mileage, synthetic TLC.
Before he left for work this morning, my boyfriend Rob, who happens to know and adore all things about cars (he's from Detroit), gave me some sound advice.
"They'll try to sell you a lot of stuff," he warned. "Just get the oil changed."
"Just the oil," he repeated.
$350 dollars later, I'm home from my oil change. Albeit with new transmission fluid and some radiator work, but $350 poorer nonetheless.
Mr. Lube explained what the car needed, and the total came to close to $500. I got it down to $350.
I thought I deserved a pat on the back. Or at least a cookie.
Well I just talked to Rob, still at work, and told him about my feat.
He wasn't as pleased as I was. Not nearly. He's disappointed that I didn't listen to him, and even more disappointed that they would "screw me over."
Assuming he's right, how do these people sleep at night?
The guy seemed nice enough. He commented on my dog. I thanked him when I left. He smiled.
I'm going to go forward believing that my car actually did need all and more than what I bought.
I'm going to pay my credit card bill happily, knowing that at least I'm practicing preventative medicine on the old girl.
That way, at least I'll be able to sleep at night.
