The driver-side window in my car had stopped working. I took the car to a local mechanic shop we’ve used before and had them find out what was wrong. We paid for the diagnosis and got an estimate for the repair: $350.00.

The city and area we live in is expensive, especially for things like car repair. We usually end up taking our cars to my hometown for any major work. My dad knows all the good mechanics there, and we can trust them. Every time we’ve taken a vehicle to my hometown for repairs, we’ve saved between $100 and $300. It’s always been worth the drive and time. Besides, I usually spend the day hanging out with my dad while the repair work is being done.

So, the diagnosis for our power windows was that we needed to replace the master switch in the door. My dad set up an appointment with a mechanic he knows in my hometown; my dad was having the man do some work on his own car, too. When we dropped off my car, I told the mechanic what the previous mechanic in my current city had said: the master switch was bad. (But I didn’t tell him how much the other guy would have charged for the work.)

My dad and I ran errands in the morning, and then went back to check on the car. The mechanic confirmed that we needed to replace the master switch. He said I could get a switch from any parts place, or the dealer, or even a junk yard, and popping it in would be easy. So, we swapped cars, leaving my dad’s car for its work, and taking my car. The mechanic left the switch hanging out of its place in the door so we could see it and have easy access to it.

My dad and I called several parts stores for a master switch, but no place had one—it’s strictly a dealer item. The only dealer was in another town, half an hour away, so my dad suggested we check with junk yards.

The idea of getting parts from a junk yard doesn’t sit real well with my mind, but I know people (including my dad) who have gotten parts from a junk yard and never had a problem with the part’s function or appearance. So, I was willing to see what we could find. To help soothe my concerns about junk yard parts, we learned the price for the master switch: The dealer told us $120. The various junk yards we called said between $25 and $65.

Every junk yard we called told us they had the part. But when we got to the junkyards, none of them actually had the switch for the model car I have. We came so very close to getting a really cheap part every time we tried a yard, but we ended up just wasting time on searching. The cost savings would have been great if just one of the promises had come real. As it was, we had to just go to the dealership for the part anyway.

At the dealership, when the parts salesman gave us the part, he told us the price was $150. I told him we were quoted $120 on the phone before we drove out there. He asked us who told us that, and said that price was just not right. I insisted we were told that price. He told us that the only way we could get that price is with a manager’s approval, but the manager was on the phone. I said I’d wait. Although I didn’t tell him, I told my dad I’d give them five minutes to handle this, or I’d walk out. I was not going to be dealt with like that. I marked the time on my watch, but the manager came into the situation in only about three minutes.

I had already figured up the probable total cost with tax, in my head: around $132. I was willing to pay that, but not more. When the manager and salesman finished their discussion, I was getting it for $120 total, including tax. The salesman gave me the bull about “Don’t tell anyone how much you got this for—it’s below our cost.” Yeah, that’s standard salesman smoke. So I walked out with the switch for the total $120.

My dad and I popped it into place in the parking lot. When we got back to my hometown, we went and picked up his car from the mechanic. He asked if we got the switch. We told him what we had to do to find one, and that we installed it ourselves. He didn’t charge me any cost for his confirmation of the diagnosis.

So, for going to my hometown and having a small-town mechanic, known to my dad, check out my car and advise me, I saved $230 (66%) on a car repair. This just supports my dislike of having to deal with car mechanics in my current city.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’ve seen these wrist bands and medallions that say, “WWJD” (What would Jesus do?) and “LIVESTRONG”. It’s a neat idea. Supposedly, every time the wearer sees it, they remember to “do right”. That’s great, if a simple reminder works for you.

Me, I need Jesus to slap me on the back of my head and say, “Shut up. Don’t be a fool.” Subtle reminders don’t work for me. My guardian angel doesn’t give me gentle nudges, he or she has to use a two-by-four, with a double-handed swing. And I probably require two hits to change course.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m not really liking my new cell phone. My old phone was not a flip phone, so when I pulled it out of my pocket, the display and keypad were right there—I didn’t have to flip it open to see who was calling, what time it was, or to start dialing. The keypad numbers were all raised rubber buttons, so I could dial by feel, without having to even look at the phone.

My new phone must be flipped open to see the menu and to dial. It’s also slick, physically, so handling it with one hand is not easy. And the buttons are flat on the keypad, so I can’t feel them to dial without looking at it. It looks cool and all, but for handling, my old clunker was better.

The only feature I have come to like with my new phone is the ability to record sounds and use them as ring tones. I can have a different sound/ring for every contact in my phone book. So far, though, I’m only using one ring for all calls: my two young sons saying, “ring ring, ring ring.” It’s really cool, to me. It’s probably annoying to anyone else hearing it.

It took me half a dozen tries to get the boys to do it right. I explained what I was doing, showed them how I was going to do it, and even did a couple tests with them before actually recording anything.

I wanted them both to say “ring ring” together, but ended up going with the oldest saying it first followed by the youngest repeating it.

The first few tries to record the sound came out like this:

(Before comma is 6 year old, after comma is 2 year old.)

“ng ring, . . . . . . . . . . . ring ring.”

“ring ring, what is dat?”

“RING RING, hehehe WING WING.”

“Say it now?, say now?”

Child voice talent. How do directors work with them?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m sitting here trying to think of something interesting to post about. (Interesting? I’ve never limited myself to writing about something interesting for past posts.) Hmm. What to write about?

How about something funny? But nothing particularly funny has happened.

How about exciting? Meh. Nothing exciting has happened.

So I’ve got nothing good to write about. Good? That’s it! If nothing good has happened, maybe something bad has happened.

Think. . . . Damn. Nothing bad has happened either.

I’ve got nothing to write about. Just nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing. Zero, zilch, nada. Nil. (Did you know “nil” is the British term for zero? It is. And that’s what I’ve got to write about.)

With nothing interesting in this post, what am I going to do to keep you reading? I’ve got to do something, or you’ll leave this site and go read something else. Or go watch TV. Or actually get some work done (if you read this from your office).

I shouldn’t just waste your time with useless rambling. It’s a waste of my time writing useless rambling, too. But then again, most of my posts are useless ramblings, and you read them. And then some of you come back the next day to read more ramblings.

Is my rambling that entertaining, or is your time that free? I like to think my rambling is just that entertaining. My words just captivate your attention, and you just keep reading in amazement.

I have control of your eyes and mind right now. I’m saying nothing of interest, but you just keep reading this page. Keep reading. Keep reading. See?

You’re probably having to scroll down the page to keep reading this drivel, but you just can’t stop. You’re fascinated by my words. Entranced by my sentences. In awe of my linguistic abilities.

Or maybe you really are just totally bored. Or you’re grasping at any reason to not get to work on what you’re supposed to be doing right now. Or maybe you’re perversely curious about just how long I’ll continue to write nonsense junk.

Maybe I should stop with the silliness and write something at least vaguely interesting.

. . .

I got nothing.

Sorry.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com