*Squeak Squeak* It Must Be Cold!

For the past few weeks my car has been talking to me. Obviously, I am not well versed in the language that cars speak, because had I known that my car has been screaming like a leprous cat being boiled in hot oil because it was not feeling well, maybe I would’ve taken it in to get looked at.

A few weeks back, I noticed that as I made my daily trek out of the parking lot and into the real world, my car made this annoying whining noise (much like a small animal or little sister undergoing some form of torture). The noise would stop as I surpassed 25 miles an hour or so. I assumed that the noise was a result of the frigidly cold winter weather that has been exceptionally horrific as of recent. It wasn’t until last weekend, on my way home from the Utah Lindy Exchange at 5:00 am after a good 10 hours of dancing, that I realized that my car was, in fact, sick.

Roughly 3 exits before my turnoff, my heavily lidded eyes noticed the menacing appearance of the red battery light. My brain instantly began to panic and my heart sank. I know from experience that any light that randomly appears on the dash is a bad thing… especially if it’s red. The last thing I needed on top of my impending tuition payments and my recent visits to the doctor was car problems. As I continued to speed down I-15, I argued that it could be worse, and that if the battery light was the worst of my worries, I would be ok. It was as I presented myself with this argument that my temperature gage started to creep towards the red line of death. I pulled in the parking lot a very frustrated man, to say the least. I decided I’d deal with it all in the morning.

My parents are about as rad as they come, and upon hearing about my predicament, rushed to the rescue. As my Dad pulled into the parking lot, he began questioning me. I’m fairly certain that the first question out of his mouth was, “Has your car been making noises?”

“Oh crap… here it comes.” I thought to myself. Then came the audible answer. “Um, yeah… I think so.”

“Well, like what kind of noises?” Dad asked.

“Um, it’s been squeaking.” I answered, knowing that I was starting the quick decent into the car lecture of doom. This is the lecture where my Dad will tell me that I need to take care of things, and that cars are a privilege not a right, and how I should take care of things before they get out of hand…

“Did you get it looked at?”

“No, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” I said. “I figured it was just squeaking because it’s been cold outside. Don’t cars do that?”

*Sigh* “Whatever…” he muttered (when Dad says ‘whatever,’ that means that the lecture is about to commence. He is giving whomever will be receiving the lecture a chance to brace themselves.) “Well, it sounds like you are having problems with one of your belts. Lets see if we can get it fixed. I really wish you would have let me know that your car was making sounds so we could’ve taken care of it before it became a problem. Whenever your car is making funny noises you should ALWAYS get it checked…”

“Sorry.” I have learned that apologies are the best way to cope with my parents when I screw up. Things tend to breeze over more quickly when they know that I know that I’m wrong.

We spent the next little while looking for an auto shop that was open on a Saturday afternoon. We found a little hole-in-the-wall place run by some Mexicans that specialized in Japanese cars. They said they could have my car in and out in a few hours. This was perfect since I had a drive to make to Salt Lake later that night, and had promised some friends a ride. They said all they would have to do is order the belt, and once it arrived, it would be about 10 to 20 minutes to install. We offered to pick up the belt ourselves to speed up the process. Our amigos thought it was a good idea, so they told us what part to get and sent us on our merry way. We made a quick stop a Checker Auto, bought the belt, brought it back to the shop and were instructed to return in “a few hours”. By then, the car would be ready for us. This was at about 3:30 pm.

My parents were observant enough at this point to realize that I’ve lost weight because I am a starving college student and can’t afford food. They took me out to eat, and talked to me about all of my other life issues. After a one hour pep talk, we decided that we should go check on the car. (Funny side story. While in the car, my brother called my Mom to ask how everything was going. Mom proceeded to explain to him that if his car is making any noises that he should get it checked. “Oh, mine is actually squeaking when I start it.” Mom explained to him that it was probably his belt, and that it was the same thing my car was doing. He said, “Oh I just thought it squeaked because it was cold outside.” Father… you taught us well. Ha ha ha!) All together, with travel time included, we had given the Hispanic mechanics a good hour and a half to put on the belt. Turns out, that wasn’t enough time… especially since “after looking at the part, we realized that it was the wrong one and then we sent in a special order for the right one.” We left feeling fairly exasperated, with the instructions to give them a few more hours and then come back again.

My parents headed back home after telling me to eat more food, save more money and put air in my tires (God bless them, if they weren’t here, I’d probably be dead 100 times over). They had performed as only the best parents do, and had really bailed me out of a sticky situation. I spent the next few hours praying that my car would be ready by 7:00. I called them at 5:30 and didn’t get an answer… then I called at 6:30… no answer. By 7:00 I was pretty frustrated. My friend Mindy came over and was kind enough to drive me over to the shop to see what the heck was going on. As I entered the garage, I was informed that my “special order part” had not arrived and that I’d have to return on Monday to get my car. I spent the rest of the weekend fearing that I would return to the shop to find boarded up windows, a vacant lot and a whatever stray car parts the ‘mechanics’ couldn’t sell.

When the time came on Monday for me to get out of class and pick up my car, I was kind of stressed. I made my way to the shop (around 4:00 pm) with the help of another friend only to receive the news that my car STILL WASN’T READY! The part had just arrived. I gave them a half hour. Luckily, after the half hour my car was, in fact, ready. I paid and drove away only to have my car squealing at me 2 hours later. I was pissed.

I decided that this time I would take my Father’s sound advice and take it to a shop. I went to Big O Tires to get my leaky tire fixed and asked them to look at the belt. To make a long story short, $200 and a new pair of tires later, I finally had a fully functioning car.

Now for the moral of the story. If it sounds like you have a choir of banshees suffering from IBS in the hood of your car, there is probably something wrong with it… and it’s probably one of your belts. If your car makes ANY suspicious noise, take it to the shop… or call your Dad.

Also, if you don’t rotate your tires, they will go bald and eventually explode into a million pieces as you cruise down the freeway at nearly 80 mph sending you reeling into oncoming traffic which could result in your imminent death. Luckily, this didn’t happen to me. I do openly admit, however, that bald tires are NOT a good idea for the cold, snowy winter months.

Thanks Dad for being patient and helping me fix my car!

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