When I went out to the car this morning, it was covered in a thin layer of ice, and so I got out my very large ice scraper and scraped it off. (Gone Westians mock me for this ice scraper, but I grew up in the Mitten State. I know the importance of a good ice scraper. And the one time a year that it snows, I'm the one laughing as I quickly clean off my car while they scrape the windshield with their frozen fingernails.)
Around the front of my car, I noticed that one of my headlights was out. It was early and foggy, and I really couldn't not have my headlights on, but I was embarrassed all the way to work. What kind of person has only one headlight?
Surely, I thought, I can replace some headlights.
On my lunch hour, I went to an auto parts store and bought two headlights. Not just headlights. Ecologically friendlier headlights. The guy behind the counter advised changing both headlights at once (because they are likely to burn out at similar times), which I did, but now I regret it, because the two lights that were in there already were not the same.
Then I went home and parked in my driveway and began trying to change my headlights.
Um.
First of all, who writes the instructions in the owner's manual? "Push on both sides of the connector to disengage it from the bulb and pull straight back to remove the connector." The situation is made worse by the fact that the "both sides" of which they speak are buried in the rubber piece that protects the bulb, so you can't actually reach them, and that the driver's side connector is further buried beneath some little power steering reservoir that you have to twist out of the way while hoping that you aren't severing some important cable.
About thirty minutes after I started, I had the passenger side changed but was still fighting with the driver's side light (no idea why! it wasn't even burned out! madness!). An older guy who was working on the water heater next door came by and said, "You swearing at that thing yet?"
"Yes, yes, I am," I said, and he tried to pull on the stupid connector but soon had to leave lest his boss yell at him. I just could not get a grip on the connector while reaching around the power steering fluid reservoir.
By the time I got done, my hands were ground in with grease. My fingers ached from pressing so hard on the little connector tabs. The backs of my hands were red and scraped from the power steering reservoir. I don't really mind that, though. The tomboy in me prefers grease in my fingernails over a perfect manicure. That, and my headlights are perfect.
Around the front of my car, I noticed that one of my headlights was out. It was early and foggy, and I really couldn't not have my headlights on, but I was embarrassed all the way to work. What kind of person has only one headlight?
Surely, I thought, I can replace some headlights.
On my lunch hour, I went to an auto parts store and bought two headlights. Not just headlights. Ecologically friendlier headlights. The guy behind the counter advised changing both headlights at once (because they are likely to burn out at similar times), which I did, but now I regret it, because the two lights that were in there already were not the same.
Then I went home and parked in my driveway and began trying to change my headlights.
Um.
First of all, who writes the instructions in the owner's manual? "Push on both sides of the connector to disengage it from the bulb and pull straight back to remove the connector." The situation is made worse by the fact that the "both sides" of which they speak are buried in the rubber piece that protects the bulb, so you can't actually reach them, and that the driver's side connector is further buried beneath some little power steering reservoir that you have to twist out of the way while hoping that you aren't severing some important cable.
About thirty minutes after I started, I had the passenger side changed but was still fighting with the driver's side light (no idea why! it wasn't even burned out! madness!). An older guy who was working on the water heater next door came by and said, "You swearing at that thing yet?"
"Yes, yes, I am," I said, and he tried to pull on the stupid connector but soon had to leave lest his boss yell at him. I just could not get a grip on the connector while reaching around the power steering fluid reservoir.
By the time I got done, my hands were ground in with grease. My fingers ached from pressing so hard on the little connector tabs. The backs of my hands were red and scraped from the power steering reservoir. I don't really mind that, though. The tomboy in me prefers grease in my fingernails over a perfect manicure. That, and my headlights are perfect.
1 comment:
Hi, Thank you so much for a beautiful piece of work it makes such a difference to read something with substance.I was just searching people who have an interest in justice and came across your wonderful blog. Although it is somewhat different from the work I have done, I would like to follow your blog and would be very grateful if you could check mine out. My partiular interest is in Human Rights and Justice and I am proactive in fighting for the Tibetan cause. I hope you enjoy my blog and thanks again. Tenzin Dasal.
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