My first grader has homework, Monday nights through Thursday nights. It’s all cute, simple stuff that is actually kind of fun to help him do. For instance, one piece he did last week and has received feedback on is a page of comparisons.

The instructions for parents are:

Dear Family Member:
We are studying the ideas of more than, less than, and about the same. Please help your child complete the table below.
Thank you for your cooperation.

The instructions for the homework are:

Write or draw five household objects in the table below. After comparing the lengths of these objects with the picture of six [chain] links on the right, circle “more,” “less,” or “about the same.”

My 6 year old chose and measured these items:

Shoo – “About the same”
blik – “Less”
sdoftanomol – “More”
Kop – “Less”
Book – “Less”

The teacher gave my son a star on his page for this homework, but she put a question mark next to “sdoftanomol.” I’m a bit surprised she apparently could translate “blik” (block) and “Kop” (cup). I helped my son do this homework, so I know what all the items were. “sdoftanomol” cracks me up every time I look at it. It’s obvious once you know what it is supposed to be.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

My sons have seen me “playing” WoW a few times, and now it’s become a little treat I allow them: to see my toons running or flying around Azeroth and Outland. I don’t let them see me fighting stuff—just exploring. We usually run or ride around in the major cities, and sometimes we hop on a wyvern or griffon to fly through the territories.

My 6 year old knows the major Horde cities: Orgrimmar, Thunderbluff, and Undercity (“a Halloween city”). We’ve also run around Stormwind some, but we’re mostly a Horde family. One of the parks in our area has two jungle-gym-type play areas. One is low and spread out, and one is tall on a smaller area. He’s named them Orgrimmar and Thunderbluff, respectively.

Yesterday, he used his Legos to build some structures: Orgrimmar, Thunderbluff, and the Black Portal. He loves the Black Portal, with the dragon looming over the top. He regularly uses his Legos to play WoW.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Junkyards are interesting places. The first thing that came to mind when I visited the three junkyards this week, was astonishment at the sheer number of trashed cars. I could see a couple or few dozen cars scattered around in various states of destruction: from smashed fenders that looked like the car could be repaired rather than trashed, to twisted and torn and shattered pieces of metal only barely recognizable as a car.

And this collection of destruction was just the vehicles that hadn’t yet been crushed and moved on. Some of these vehicles were late models, and even the older cars were less than maybe 10 years old. When I think of junkyards, I think of old derelict vehicles, but the reality is much younger. Some of these trashed cars look like they may have come off the dealer’s lot recently.

Looking at the devastated vehicles, I wondered how many people died in the wreckage. A few of the cars had wholes in the windshield above the steering wheel, and I could picture an unbelted driver smashing through it. Some of the cars were smashed in on the driver’s side door, and some had a collapsed roof—these had to be fatal collisions for the drivers. If ghosts and hauntings are real, I would figure that junkyards would be as probable a location as any graveyard.

There are so many interesting things to note about the junkyards I went to that I could make a week’s worth of posts relating them: the stacks of car doors, the scattered engines blocks, the ground piles of various parts and pieces, and the occasional car cab stuffed full of random junk.

And then there are the people working at the junkyards.

At one place we dealt with a young woman and her mother. Neither woman looked like a “junkyard” type, and in fact, the young woman was surprisingly attractive and clean to be found at such a place.

The next place was staffed by a bunch of skinny young guys. None of them were dirty, although the ones out in the yard showed signs of sweat from working in the hot afternoon sun. Every guy we talked with, there, was helpful and friendly.

Then there was the last place we visited. It was a bunch of obese, older guys who just pointed a finger and told us to go look for the part we needed. Although these guys more fit the preconception I had in my mind of junkyard workers, they turned out to be the more unusual team from what we had seen that day.

If I were twenty years younger, I might have asked the “junkyard girl” out on a date. If I had a 20 year old daughter, I wouldn’t have minded if one of the “junkyard boys” had asked her out on a date. But the “junkyard men”? Not so likely for either option.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

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