...cuz I like it.
I knew the my brakes were fucked and I needed new tires.
I know nothing about cars, and wouldn't dare to pretend to. But any hobo I drove by could tell I needed new tires and brakes, Rhonda the Honda was THAT bad.
If you've read any of my Yelp reviews, it's obvious I'd much rather spend the few pennies I have on ridiuclously expensive food and booze than my own personal safety. So, a month ago, as I emereged from my office at 5:30 on a Friday to the flattest tire in the entirety of automotive history, my tires were getting fixed first.
I work in Marin and was instructed to Cain's in San Rafael. I needed 4 new tires.
This, I knew.
And on my $400 bill was scrawled in all caps, "BREAK REPAIR ASAP. METAL ON METAL."
Shit. Balls. Titis.
"You didn't notice a noise, sweetheart?"
"Well, yeah. I was just hoping it would go away. How much?"
"$480. And you should do it yestaday."
Cut to a month later. Cut to yesterday. That noise was getting worse. Worse and worse, to the point that I could FEEL something wrong at every stop sign.
I lay in bed last night, watching the clock tick past 3am, worrying and worrying about all the shit I had to pay for.
Insurance. Late. Rent. Late. Bills. Late. Funky tooth feeling. No dental. And my goddamn brakes. Shit, shit, shit. Where the hell am I going to get $500?
Oh, and I had jury duty today.
But, as a therapist once told me, worrying solves little. Action solves all.
$500? Fuck that. I can't drive to Marin anyway. I might die.
I got online and googled, "Discount. Brake Repair. San Francisco."
And thus, I found B&W, 10 blocks from my house.
I didn't even call. I just (gingerly) drove in, expecting some Guido to slap me on the ass, tell me what an idiot I am and charge me my left arm and first born. Inside, however, I found Pat. Pat assured me that she was super competative, understood I had to haul ass to jury duty and would call me in an hour or so.
"Okay, Pat. But seriously, I'm talking bare minimum of repair. I'm going to New York on Thursday and I need to buy some shit there. Shit you can only get in New York. I do not spend money on my car. Oh, and I need it by tomorrow."
I warned her that I already had an estimate, an estimate I found unsatisfactory and was now looking for a hook-up.
"Hon, I'm not doing anything unsafe. I'll be honest and fair, but I'm liable if you die."
Plus, Pat couldn't get it finsihed until tomorrow. Ugh. Okay. It's not like I've been at all responsible about this.
Tomorrow it was. Provided the estimate was anything under $480.
Halfway through talking myself out of jury duty today, Pat called.
Immediately, I called her back.
Um, yeah. Those $480 brakes?
And Pat can have it done by 4:30.
My car is fixed. The noise is gone. All other bills remain unpaid. And if this tooth holds out, I have reservations at Les Halles on the 4th of July.