I grew up working in a garage. Saying I enjoyed it would be the biggest thing from the truth that I could ever imagine. Maybe not every Saturday, but at least every other Saturday, we could hear my dad come in through the back door. We knew his next words were gonna be, "you kids get dressed, it's time to get that garage cleaned up". My dad was a great mechanic. He could fix anything and he was as honest as the day is long. What he wasn't, was a neat freak. He never put his tool away. Why should he, he had us to put them away, me, my brother, and my sister.
I dreaded Saturday mornings. I was never my dad's favorite. I was his step son (he married my mom when I was 3) and he had no qualms of making me feel like the step son. We have a much better relationship now, but when I was younger, it was everything but pretty. It just so happened that on Saturday mornings, I had the crappy job in the garage. My brother and sister had to walk around picking up the tools and putting them on the bench. It was then my job to put all the tools on the bench where they belonged. At the time though, I thought I was given this job because I was the smarter kid and could read the sizes on all the wrenches and sockets. Later, common sense would tell me that I was just given that job because someone had to do it.
My dad always lectured us about how valuable it was to have a good work ethic and by God, he was gonna give it to us. He always told us that we would appreciate all these lessons as we got older. What I didn't realize is that by older, he meant much much older, like uhh say 40 years older. I always remember telling my dad, (and he still reminds me of this) that I didn't need to learn any of this because I was going to be a doctor and could afford to pay someone to do it for me. Ya, you can see where that got me (see pics below).
My brother and I always grew up working on our own cars, our own motorcycles, our own everything. We thought nothing of it. That was just the norm. The idea of someone changing my own oil or putting brakes on my car has never occurred to me.
Though we never talk finances, I'm fairly sure my little brother has made his first million already. Yet, I know for a fact he doesn't pay anyone to work on his vehicles. Like I said, it's not something we really even think about.
This weekend, on top of being on call, I had to put on a full set of brake pads on one of our work vans, put a starter on our work truck, and put rotors on my wife's car. I'm thinking that by doing all this myself, I saved maybe around $1000.00 in labor charges. As long as I don't have a million other things to do, I actually enjoy doing these things (most of the time).
My work truck just hit 290,000 miles. It's an old Ford F250 with a 6.9 Diesel. She's a dog, but she still runs and she gets the job done. The downside to the diesel though, is that she leaks oil as bad as a Harley and this time she also had a fuel leak. Diesel fuel and diesel oil.........the two messiest things and the hardest things to get off your hands.
Now being that I was on call, I had to wait till evening time to do any of this work. This would lessen the odds of me getting called and having to try and clean up before going to see a patient.
Oh and I have mentioned the little fact that I have a fractured rib.............ya, from sparring with Jay the Fat Butt. He thinks he was a stud and got a good punch it, but he didn't. His ungraceful self tried taking me to the mat only to land with his elbow right into my ribs. Sore doesn't even begin to describe it.
I bring this up because trying to lean over the truck while running new fuel lines was unbelievably painful. The truck isn't short, so I have to stand on an old milk crate to reach the motor. This was the easy part. After the leak was fixed, I had to work under the truck to put in the new starter. I didn't think much of it until I had to get up off of the floor to go get another tool. This took my breath away.....literally. I thought I was going to pass out. The initial pain was unbelievable. It felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer and hit me right in the chest.
Now just because I grew up as a mechanics kid, doesn't mean I'm the best at choosing the right tool the very first time. Oh heck no, that would be way to easy. I have to get up and down several times just to get the right wiggle socket, the right extension, the right air nozzle. By the time I was on my last bolt, I was rolling out from under the truck, then getting on my hands and knees, then using the mirror to pull myself up. Sounds pathetic huh. It was.
I dreaded Saturday mornings. I was never my dad's favorite. I was his step son (he married my mom when I was 3) and he had no qualms of making me feel like the step son. We have a much better relationship now, but when I was younger, it was everything but pretty. It just so happened that on Saturday mornings, I had the crappy job in the garage. My brother and sister had to walk around picking up the tools and putting them on the bench. It was then my job to put all the tools on the bench where they belonged. At the time though, I thought I was given this job because I was the smarter kid and could read the sizes on all the wrenches and sockets. Later, common sense would tell me that I was just given that job because someone had to do it.
My dad always lectured us about how valuable it was to have a good work ethic and by God, he was gonna give it to us. He always told us that we would appreciate all these lessons as we got older. What I didn't realize is that by older, he meant much much older, like uhh say 40 years older. I always remember telling my dad, (and he still reminds me of this) that I didn't need to learn any of this because I was going to be a doctor and could afford to pay someone to do it for me. Ya, you can see where that got me (see pics below).
My brother and I always grew up working on our own cars, our own motorcycles, our own everything. We thought nothing of it. That was just the norm. The idea of someone changing my own oil or putting brakes on my car has never occurred to me.
Though we never talk finances, I'm fairly sure my little brother has made his first million already. Yet, I know for a fact he doesn't pay anyone to work on his vehicles. Like I said, it's not something we really even think about.
This weekend, on top of being on call, I had to put on a full set of brake pads on one of our work vans, put a starter on our work truck, and put rotors on my wife's car. I'm thinking that by doing all this myself, I saved maybe around $1000.00 in labor charges. As long as I don't have a million other things to do, I actually enjoy doing these things (most of the time).
My work truck just hit 290,000 miles. It's an old Ford F250 with a 6.9 Diesel. She's a dog, but she still runs and she gets the job done. The downside to the diesel though, is that she leaks oil as bad as a Harley and this time she also had a fuel leak. Diesel fuel and diesel oil.........the two messiest things and the hardest things to get off your hands.
Now being that I was on call, I had to wait till evening time to do any of this work. This would lessen the odds of me getting called and having to try and clean up before going to see a patient.
Oh and I have mentioned the little fact that I have a fractured rib.............ya, from sparring with Jay the Fat Butt. He thinks he was a stud and got a good punch it, but he didn't. His ungraceful self tried taking me to the mat only to land with his elbow right into my ribs. Sore doesn't even begin to describe it.
I bring this up because trying to lean over the truck while running new fuel lines was unbelievably painful. The truck isn't short, so I have to stand on an old milk crate to reach the motor. This was the easy part. After the leak was fixed, I had to work under the truck to put in the new starter. I didn't think much of it until I had to get up off of the floor to go get another tool. This took my breath away.....literally. I thought I was going to pass out. The initial pain was unbelievable. It felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer and hit me right in the chest.
Now just because I grew up as a mechanics kid, doesn't mean I'm the best at choosing the right tool the very first time. Oh heck no, that would be way to easy. I have to get up and down several times just to get the right wiggle socket, the right extension, the right air nozzle. By the time I was on my last bolt, I was rolling out from under the truck, then getting on my hands and knees, then using the mirror to pull myself up. Sounds pathetic huh. It was.
Thankfully, everything worked on the first go around. The truck started right up and there were no more leaks.
Two hours later, here's those clean, white collar office hands:) . Now don't you want me putting an oxygen cannula on your loved one tomorrow.
No comment on the crooked pinky. High School baseball accident.
Tomorrow begins a new week. I'm hoping and praying for a calm productive one. It's almost midnight and I have to get up at 5:30. Not the best way to start off:)
Anway, hope you all have a great week. Later.
3 comments:
Did you listen to Barry Manilow while you worked on your cars ??? ;)
:). A mix of barry, the bee gees, and conway twitty:). (I'm kidding).
Don't put Conway in the same group as the gay guys!! Come on now, rusty!!!
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