flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

June 21, 2005

Engine Trouble

So, I’m driving to work this morning. There’s this car with its hazards on blocking the right lane, and no one behind me, so I roll down my window.

“You need me to call someone?” I ask. I am of NO use with machines of any sort, but I have a cell phone.

The woman kind of shrugs and laughs nervously.

I sighed and pulled over in front of her, clicking on my hazards. I walk back to her. She’s got the hood popped, but not open, a bottle of oil in her hands, and a puzzled expression on her face. She knew she needed to put oil in, but didn’t know how to open the hood.

So, I open the hood, prop it, take about 10 minutes trying to figure out which one is the oil one, open it (she’s in trouble – it’s completely dry in there), and instruct her to pour the oil in there. She’s all like “I’m so useless with cars” and stuff.

Well, so am I. That’s why I visit a mechanic at least every 3000 miles. I mean, how hard is that? But I just smiled and told her to get the car to a garage as soon as she could, and that it would smoke because she spilled some oil on the engine block (makes sense to me, anyway).

Did make me feel all sorts of useful, though.



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