The Problem Car

   The Problem Car

Suzanne Marsh

The ring of the phone broke the unbearable silence at the car dealership. It was a Saturday morning; I was the only one there in parts. I answered the call:

“Hello, this is parts how may I help you?’

A woman was calling for her husband, who was working on her car:

“Yes, I need the whatsamajigger, that is next to the watchamacallit, that is attached to the

dohicus next to the thingamajig.” For a moment I thought I needed someone to translate this gibberish, what country was she from anyway. I had idea what any of these items were much less what they were used for. I asked if I could possibly speak to her husband. She politely told me he was working on her car and was not allowed into the house while he was working on the cars. He dragged almost as much grease as he managed to use on the car. This already was beginning to sound like a challenge that could take at least several hours, if I was really lucky. The real question was what her husband was attempting to repair, I had no idea where to even begin to attempt to understand what the whatsamajigger was to begin with. I put her on hold while I looked for the parts manager. He had said he would come in to check on me early this morning. I glanced at my watch, his idea of early and my idea of early appeared to be two very different things. I thought maybe by the time I returned to the phone she would have hung up. I am not that lucky.

The phone was still flashing, damn how was I ever going to figure out what she required, those words were not even in the English dictionary. I took a deep breath, then began:

“Sorry, I had to put you on hold for so long.” She wasn’t angry, as she began once again:

“My husband needs that whatsamajigger. I will be there in twenty minutes.”

I am not overly religious, but I prayed to please let me understand what it was she needed.

Just as I hung up the parts manager strode in, I sighed a sigh of relief, then began babbling:

“I just got off with a woman that was not making any sense. She was needing a

whatsamajigger…” my voice trailed off as I saw recognition in his eyes. I thought maybe he might have an idea where to start. When he finally got control of himself, he had been laughing heartily:

“That woman, who sounds like a dumb blond? I have yet to meet her but her husband is

a banker, he also tinkers with cars. Last one he worked on had to be towed here, that

was after she called about, I don’t really remember which part. I was going fishing but

I think I should stay here, how long before she gets here?” I replied with a quizzical look on my face:

“She said about twenty minutes. How many times has this happened?”

The parts manager started to laugh again, while I waited for him to regain his composure again. He grinned:

“I bet this is a gonna be a thousand-dollar repair at least.”

I hesitated then began:

“Ah, what makes you think at least a thousand dollars in repairs?”

He then asked me what exactly she asked for. I grabbed my note paid, without being prompted I began:

“The whatsamajigger that is next to the whatchamacallit, that is attached to the dohicus

next to the thingamajig.”

I was not eve sure I had pronounced everything correctly. The parts manager smiled, better make that at least a three-thousand-dollar repair.” I stared at him with my mouth open and nothing coming out, finally I found my voice, it cracked as I said: “three thousand dollars?”. The Parts Manager, nodded:

“It sounds like he has more pieces than usual, better call “Sweeney’s Towing” have him stand

by.” I must have looked puzzled:

“Oh, Sweeney has been there more times than he would care to count. One time he arrived

there, the woman was in hysterics, her car was in pieces all over the yard. Hose clamps

were mixed in with radiator parts, the engine was in pieces all over the garage floor.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. The wife was yelling at her husband that he should have

taken it to the shop before he decided he could do it cheaper himself. That bill plus

towing cost as much as the car did, if I remember the total was over ten grand.”

Just then a harried looking blond came in, she had driven up in a Jeep, she clamored out her long legs dangling. That sure was one lucky banker. We watched to see if she was headed for parts, sure enough, she knew exactly where she was going, they both jogged after her.

The Parts Manager began:

“Good morning, how may we help you?”

She smiled pleasantly:

“I called about twenty minutes ago; my husband is working on my poor car. It is in pieces

all over the ground and garage. He needs that whatchamajigger now. I need my car!

She must have seen sympathy in both our eyes:

“I am not an auto mechanic, I am a nurse, I have no idea what parts he needs, I don’t think

he does either. He is vice president of the Chambers Bank. Please, I need the car back.”

Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, here we were this woman who had no idea what was needed, her husband who should not be allowed around any vehicle, the Part’s manager and myself. I had no idea how we were going to figure this out, but we had to at least try.

I had an idea, I just hoped it would work, I made a copy of the inner workings of the car, then returned, I got the attention of the Part’s Manager, together we returned to the woman. I began with a deep hopeful sigh:

“This is a picture here of what the inner workings of your car should look like, maybe you

can identify the parts.”

She had been calm up until that pointed then suddenly, she transformed into a roaring lioness:

“I have no idea; my husband should not be allowed around tools to begin with. I need

the car fixed NOW!!!” It was as if she was losing it she continued:

“I am not even sure I can explain what parts he needs.” I began:

“Okay, look at the picture, the engine is here, now in relationship to the

whatsamajigger, where is that part?”

She stared at the picture, then cried:

“I don’t know, can’t you just send the tow truck, like you did last time before I don’t

have a car at all. Honestly, men are ridiculous creatures that think they can fix anything

with a hammer, and pry bar. CALL THE DAMN TOW TRUCK NOW!!!”

What more could either of us say? I was completely taken aback. We called Sweeney, who was already on his way over there to her home. When he arrived, he called:

“This one is gonna be expensive, it is gonna take me half a day just to find the parts

before I can even move the vehicle.” Sweeney then hung up, he was disgusted.

The following Monday morning bright and early, Sweeney, came in with a vehicle, piled high with parts. They were on the front and back seats. I was not sure I had the nerve to find the head mechanic, but I paged him. He arrived about ten minutes later; it seemed as if he were literally dragging his feet:

“Okay” he began with a sigh, “how many pieces do we have this time?” He transversed the shop as he if were going to his execution, although he must have felt that way. I had never seen so many parts in pieces. The head mechanic groaned:

“Oh no, this is gonna take me a week just to figure out what parts belong where, better pull

Bill and Dave off whatever they are doing, the more we have working on this the better.

Parts, better order all hoses and clamps, nuts bolts.”

We all merely nodded, I looked at the head mechanic questioningly:

“Do you want me to order thewhatsamajigger, that is next to the whatschamacallit, that is

attached to the dohicus, that is near the thingamajig?”

The head mechanic looked at me as if I were in an insect under a magnifying glass:

“Do you have any idea what in the hell you are talking about?” I stood my ground as the Part’s Manager groaned:

“Chuck, this is our new part’s guy, his first Saturday by himself and Mrs. Montrose was his first

customer, he still has no idea what parts he needs.” The Part’s Manager simply strode on as the head mechanic stood there with the same puzzled look on his face as I had on mine. Welcome to the world of parts.