Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Deaf Bob and the Mekanixxx

Are your ear-pussies
ready for my haiku schlong?
I won't be gentle

Deaf Bob

OK so I will get back to the cars and all that shiznit I have been neglecting later, but I had to share this little tidbit. The other day I am minding my own business, looking for a successor to Jeremy, and Deaf Bob (heretofore known as Def Bob) shows up. Def Bob is the manager of our building maintenance engineering technician accompaniment, or janitors for short. He is also, as the name implies, deaf.

Anyway, he come up and kinda taps me on the shoulder as I have my back to him, and you know how deaf people talk you can't really understand what they are saying because it sounds like the adults on Peanuts? Fuck you if you're offended I'm trying to tell a story, but he was all like "A'whugh fat machy idn wonkie" or something like that... I just sit there looking at him because now I am retarded simply for trying to decode his simple but beautiful language...

After 5 or 6 tries and much miming I realize he is telling me his fax machine is not working. When he sends some paper through it it goes, acts like it is faxing, but no confirmation sheet. Proud of myself for figuring out what he had said, I was not totally thinking when I went into technician mode to try to troubleshoot the issue.

Now I want you to read this next part good, maybe twice, because it may qualify for the single most wrong thing I have ever said. My first question to Def Bob is "When you pick up the handset on the fax machine what do you hear?"

It still had not dawned on me, as he stood there blinking at my blatant idiocy, wondering if I was really that stupid or if I was trying to insult him.

Why can I not go more than a week without saying something so wrong there is no way to make it right?

Anyway, one more update for you all, the new hot rod successor to the Escort is almost finished, we got the engine swapped out, and I proved the other day why Stevester should ALWAYS be under direct supervision when vehicles and tools are concerned...

So we have the entire engine done except for putting the front axle and the wheels back on (I have a picture montage in the spirit of my old gateway days that I will share soon), and your favorite Stevester is feeling pretty good about himself. It's time to start filling fluids, or so I assume, and I get the radiator and cooling system filled with NO LEAKS. I am psyched, as I personally hooked the cooling system back up and it's very gratifying to see that it is done correctly the first time.

I move on to putting the oil in. On manual transmission engines, you do not put in transmission fluid, you fill the transmission with oil, which I did not know but was psyched to find out. I fill the transmission with oil, of course overfilling it, and go to bed. Remember, at this point, the axle is still not in the car. The car's front end is jacked up about 3 feet in the air, meaning the lowest point in the car would be where the front axle goes. If you have any automotive knowledge, you would know the front axle is COMPLETELY driven by the transmission, nay, it is an integral PART of the transmission. And, being a moving part, it needs to stay lubricated. The best lubricant in a car engine is oil. If you haven't figured this all out yet, I will spell it out. There was a huge hole in the bottom of the transmission I filled with oil that the axle usually takes up, preventing oil from pouring out of the bottom of the car and onto the floor of my completely flat garage floor, which was nice and dark the next day when your loving Stevester wandered out there in plastic crocs to revel in his handiwork. Not seeing the fucking LAKE of fresh, clean motor oil, and perhaps tired from playing Assassin's Creed on my Xbox while watching Canadian Football and Lockup (I love Lockup, great series), I was walking pretty briskly toward the front of the car, where the old fucking 600 pound car engine was sitting, balanced precariously on a wooden block.

Luckily my awkwardly splaying outstretched hands and feet missed the block and the car, but not the concrete floor, and I learned a valuable lesson as I lay there looking at the ceiling of the garage. Leave all mechanical work to professionals. I hope this PSA does not scare anyone from riding along with me in my new hot rod of justice, as I plan to have it inspected by a competent professional.


Bill Wabbit said...

I am personally VERY disappointed the wife did not take pictures...or at least start an oil-wrestling match...

Stevester said...

there ARE pictures, and there WAS an oil wrestling match... I shall post them later sir