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I don't know if it's a testament to my great rack, or my flirtatious nature, or BJ lips, but Christ, I can get any fucking car on the planet past an inspection. I am the Queen of Inspections.
Two cases in point:
Last month I took Dave's car, a 2001 Sebring, to an unknown mechanic, chosen solely because of proximity. Bad exhaust, spongy brakes. He pulled it into the bay, got it up on the lift and said, "Yeah...Um, the brakes are a little problematic." And I said, "Not to mention the throaty rumble of the exhaust." And he said, "Um, yeah, that too." And I giggled with him through the rest of the inspection and Lo and Behold, he passed it and mentioned that I might want to get those things taken care of.
TODAY, I went in to pay for a new clutch in the motherfucker beast truck of Doom, Ol' Shitty, completely forgetting about a majorly blown out exhaust manifold when I asked that it be inspected, too. The tags are expired, and it's a must. So when THIS previously unknown to me mechanic pulled the truck in, I said, "Oh holy shit, I totally forgot about the exhaust manifold. It sounds like POWER." He laughed and when I said, "Oh my crap" to his estimate of $500 to repair it, and asked me how often I really drive the thing. I told him about twice a week, and we're planning on leaving it out at the lakehouse as a beater. So he said, "Well, I've got to write this stuff up, but maybe you can just let the tags expire and keep it out there." And I was sad but still hopefully flirty and he fixed my fallen-off side mirror for free and put in a new stem valve on a tire, for free. So we went into the office and he's writing up the slip for the inspection and went back to the truck for a second and came back in and I paid him his $12 and he handed me the inspection slip WITH NO DEFECTS LISTED and I said, "Holy cow. Thanks!" And pulled out of the lot and went screaming through a red light because the brakes wouldn't engage and I almost died screaming, "MOTHERFUCKINGSHITOHMYGODDDDD!"
And so now I'll go get the brakes fixed because I almost died and took out God knows how many innocent drivers, but the truck is legal! Ha! Go me.
Two cases in point:
Last month I took Dave's car, a 2001 Sebring, to an unknown mechanic, chosen solely because of proximity. Bad exhaust, spongy brakes. He pulled it into the bay, got it up on the lift and said, "Yeah...Um, the brakes are a little problematic." And I said, "Not to mention the throaty rumble of the exhaust." And he said, "Um, yeah, that too." And I giggled with him through the rest of the inspection and Lo and Behold, he passed it and mentioned that I might want to get those things taken care of.
TODAY, I went in to pay for a new clutch in the motherfucker beast truck of Doom, Ol' Shitty, completely forgetting about a majorly blown out exhaust manifold when I asked that it be inspected, too. The tags are expired, and it's a must. So when THIS previously unknown to me mechanic pulled the truck in, I said, "Oh holy shit, I totally forgot about the exhaust manifold. It sounds like POWER." He laughed and when I said, "Oh my crap" to his estimate of $500 to repair it, and asked me how often I really drive the thing. I told him about twice a week, and we're planning on leaving it out at the lakehouse as a beater. So he said, "Well, I've got to write this stuff up, but maybe you can just let the tags expire and keep it out there." And I was sad but still hopefully flirty and he fixed my fallen-off side mirror for free and put in a new stem valve on a tire, for free. So we went into the office and he's writing up the slip for the inspection and went back to the truck for a second and came back in and I paid him his $12 and he handed me the inspection slip WITH NO DEFECTS LISTED and I said, "Holy cow. Thanks!" And pulled out of the lot and went screaming through a red light because the brakes wouldn't engage and I almost died screaming, "MOTHERFUCKINGSHITOHMYGODDDDD!"
And so now I'll go get the brakes fixed because I almost died and took out God knows how many innocent drivers, but the truck is legal! Ha! Go me.