Or alternatively, replacing the struts
in the cold is like that one scene in Star Wars where Luke learns
that he has to go to the Dagobah system only I learned that the air
compressor scares me because it's kind of a dick. So today we decided
that we were going to replace the rear wheel struts on the car. This
job was something that we had wanted to began yesterday, but then the
auto shop gave us the wrong part and then we had to drive to town to
get another one because ha ha ha life. Did I mention the high today
was 37?
The high today was 37. Degrees. That
was it.
Anyway, so we get the strut out of the
box, optimistically, and then we jack up the car and get the tire off
and then everything went to hell in a poop basket. Now what you have
to understand, is the strut is that part with the
giant-ass-holy-motherfuck-that's-huge spring on it. It is connected
to the rotor which is the bit that makes the car stop. So the strut
connects to the break. That's all you need to know.
Except there was one other piece. One
other traitorous low down bitch faced part. And that part is the part
I can never remember the name of. Scott told me it was the sway bar
control link. I spent the day referring to it as the Patrick Swayze
bar.
Because I am adult and no one can tell
me to stop acting like a 10 year old.
So the first problem is some other
fucking idiot mechanic had placed the bolts into the
strut in such a way that we could not remove the strut from the car
without taking out the break caliper- also known as that part I never
want to touch again after that time we replaced the break pads. After
we did that, we discover that the bolt on the Patrick Swayze bar was
stuck. Like super really a lot stuck. Like it took 45 minutes, a
broken allen key, and two broken sockets before we gave up and
sawzalled the piece off.
Which pretty much meant that we were
ordering more parts.
Because who doesn't love pouring
additional money and time into a project you didn't feel like doing
in the first place? Anyway, about that point we discovered that
getting the new strut in was god awful.
One person had to lift the strut up,
deep into the wheel well, keep everything perfectly lined up, fight
the damn break system out of the way, while the second person had to
lean way into the trunk and verbally guide the piece into the bolt
hole and then bolt it in place. This took two attempts. Oh and clamps
that we placed on the spring to allow us to work with it kept hitting
the wheel well. Ha ha. Annddd also at this point it started snowing.
Because fuck spring that's why.
Anywho, we got the damn thing in place,
lined up and bolted in place up top. Then all we had to do was bolt
it at the bottom. Seeing that Scott, who had been doing the bulk of
the lifting, was tired enough to turn into the undead at any moment,
I sent him inside, saying that I would put the last two bolts in.
Childbirth probably would have been
easier.
Also, I pulled an ass muscle.
Okay.
So the problem now was that the break
assembly was just sort of hanging there, so to get the bottom bolt
in, I had to lift it. This was not so bad, and I was able to slide
the bolt in rather painlessly. The only problem now was that I had
turned the bottom into a fulcrum point, meaning that the top was
still leaning out and down. Which would mean I was going to have to
use my 145 pound ass to shove the break rotor up with one hand, while
putting the bolt in with the other.
It took everything I had and then some.
At one point, I had my right shoulder resting on my right hand, with
only the palm on the rotor because I didn't want to put pressure on
that rotor plate guard thingy, with my legs doing that thing where
you shove them into the ground and push hard so it looks like you are
trying to run in place while you are half laying down.
Which is how I pulled that ass muscle.
I remember sitting there, in my half
mud, half ice driveway, breathing hard, thinking that I had given
this fucking thing everything I had, and I still couldn't do it. Snow
flakes, the light fluffy, lazy kind, the kind that zig zag to the
ground, were falling around me, catching on my hat and landing
soundlessly on my gloves. The sun was slipping behind our ridge,
painting the sky with crazy blues and purples and leaving the heavens
lit while the earth slipped into cold shadow. My hands were stinging
and my feet, even through three socks and insulated boots, were
throbbing to the beat of my heart. The wind whipped past making my
cheeks sting, bringing me back from that tired fugue to the world
where I was facing off against my car, kneeling on a wet soggy board.
And I summoned my anger.
I thought about everything that had
ever pissed me off. Every single person that gave fuel to that
terrible voice in my head that tells me that I am not good enough.
That tells me I am weak and pathetic and stupid and makes fun of me
for being afraid of the air compressor.
And I told that voice to go fuck
itself. To go fuck itself so hard. And then I shoved that goddamned
motherfucking, son of bitch break rotor up and crammed the bolt in
place.
Because I am awesome. Then I walked the
victory limp pulled ass muscle walk back to the house to tell Scott
that I was the queen of the strut assembly.
At least until we have to do the other
side.
Fuck.
Oh no! Not the ass muscle.
ReplyDeleteHonestly - I'll do brakes and oil. I've paid to have 3 out of 4 struts replaced on my car - just looking at that mother effing huge spring told me it would be a giant ass pain to replace.
Lately I've been hearing that ominous creaking that lets me know one or more needs replacing again - time to consider another vehicle.
On the bright side, you got a drink named in your honor yesterday. A few of those should take your mind off of your busted ass? :)
ReplyDeleteYes. That will make it all better. Yes.
DeleteBest injury ever. Hope the ass muscle recovers soon!
ReplyDeleteI almost want to say it's too bad you didn't get a scar along with your ass muscle injury because then you whip off your pants and point to your scar like Quint in Jaws and be all, "I got this when."
ReplyDeleteIt would be even cooler if you did it while chugging the drink that got named after you.
Like a bad ass.
Because seriously, after all I've read here, you are a Bad Ass! Just like Quint. Except I don't think you have to worry about sharks.
I'm like the Quint of possums.
DeleteI hope your ass muscle gets better soon.
ReplyDeleteI can think of some really fun ways to pull an a** muscle. Fixing struts on a car (or anything on a car) is not among them. I hope it heals soon, so that you can pull it trying to do something entirely different IN the car. ;-)
ReplyDeleteChildbirth does sound easier. More painful, perhaps, but definitely easier. I mean, all you really have to do is just lie there and curse like a sailor while a tiny person rips you open from bow to stern. But then, I've never tried to fix anything on the car that didn't end with zip-ties, silly putty and gorilla tape...like my mama taught me.
ReplyDeleteAlso, Patrick Swayze bar = Roadhouse.