I got my car back from the shop this weekend with a shiny new transmission that actually shifts into all five gears and, yes, even stays in gear when I tell it to.
Which is all I ever wanted in a transmission anyway, besides the ability to go back in time. Which would be just awesome.
The shop's completion of
sucking my blood dry along with my bank account installing the new transmission couldn't have come at a more opportune time.
My legs are so sore from riding all weekend (I seriously rode more this past weekend than I have in the last month or more) on top of cycling to and from work all last week.
And even though I appreciate the paper floor mats and plastic covers so many shops are putting on seats these days, could mechanics maybe wear gloves or something before coating my steering wheel in grease?
Dear Mechanic: I already signed over enough of my soul, but do you have to eat all of my Altoids as well? Surely you can use a tiny portion of my soul and get your own damn tin.