Gift Card, Anyone?

I was at the auto parts store again the other day. I'm beginning to think that my dear hubby hates to go as much as I do since he's been sending me so often as of late. And while I was standing at the counter I saw a sign with a Christmas stocking advertising holiday gift cards. Nothing says lovin' like available money to spend keeping your clunker in running order.

I do have to say that this trip to the AP store was much better than the last one. I smelled better, too. And I did get pretty decent service. There could be two reasons for this.

1. A woman waited on me. (I have theories about women who work in auto parts stores, and most of them are kinda scary. Try a little make-up on occasion. And maybe run a comb through your hair before coming to work. Both of these things will greatly improve your image.)

2. Based on the last trip there, I'm now on their "do not mess with her" list.

The only questions that I was asked were intelligent ones. I really tried to avoid giving the year of the car (not that they weren't going to figure it out anyway) but finally had to divulge that it's older than her teenage son. I had slight heart failure when she said the price of a new battery. I asked where on earth the $45 ones went. She looked at me like I had just stepped from the stone age. I guess you know you've owned a car too long when you remember batteries being half the price you're paying.

So after paying, and noticing the gift card sign (mental note, in case I don't know what to get hubbs for Christmas I can always get him one of these), we stepped outside to install the battery. She asked if the hood was popped.

This car is nearly 16 years old. It has 220,000 miles on it and still has all it's original parts. It runs like a train and has been paid off many, many years ago. We love this little car, but it's days are numbered. The door handle barely works, the automatic locks won't unlock automatically, and it's rusting apart. The latest crisis has been the hood release. The release broke off inside leaving a bunch of sheared cable. One needs pliers to pull on these cables to release the hood. I had to ask for pliers to open the hood. The lady looked at me like I was nuts AND from the stone age. I then realized that my husband had locking pliers (I know these have names, but I don't care to know what it is) locked onto the cable and dangling within reach. I now feel on par to the Auto Parts Woman.

But things did improve. It was a slow day at the AP store and two men felt the need to come out to assist with this job. They waited until the woman pulled the battery changing cart out the door herself (I held it for her because I know what shopping with a stroller is). When she actually had to use tools they were there like stink on a skunk. Well one was, the other was busy hacking up a lung. It looked rather like a major surgical procedure, but the job got done. And then the men disappeared like dust in the wind, leaving the poor woman to clean up and tote the cart back into the store. I have theories about auto parts store men as well.

From there I was summoned (thanks to my own cell phone) to Lowe's to pick up a tool. This is only slightly better than auto parts stores. I needed a pocket hole drill bit. I was as clueless as the dog that I took with me, so instead of wandering all through the tool aisles I simply found someone and asked for help. I'm a woman and I can do this. I loved the man who waited on me. He said I didn't have to be clueless, but I informed him that indeed, I did. If I had a clue I'd be asked to stop way more often than I am. To which he answered with this gem of wisdom: "You don't have to be stupid, just act it."

I think I'll adopt that as my life's motto from now on. I love to be informed. I love to learn new things. But who's to say I need to let my husband know that I know how to fix the car? Or use his tools? Or change a light bulb?