The Oil Change

“I wouldn’t publish that story, if I were you,” my wife said, raising her eyebrows. It’s a look she reserves for when I’m about to do something really dumb.

“I don’t know why not. After all, it’s true.”

“Yes, but people might think you’re stu—.” She caught herself and didn’t finish. Somehow I knew the missing word wasn’t ‘stupendous.’

“Ah, c’mon, babe. They already know I’m not a car guy. My Dakota, er, Ranger proves that.”

I decided to publish anyway, which I reckon I don’t need to tell you since you’re reading it at the moment.

So the Dak—, um, Ranger needed an oil change. Actually it needed it about four months ago so I figured I’d better get right to it, rather than putting it off. I do like to be timely about these things.

I drove it over to the oil change place, and found that I was the only customer—a bit of luck I would later be quite thankful for. So they guided me right into the service bay and began their interrogation.

“So how are your wipers, sir?”

“Wipers are fine, don’t bother with ‘em.”

“And how about your transmission fluid?”

“Fluid’s fine, leave it alone.”

“We’re running a special on flushing your radia—”

“NO thank you! Just want the oil changed.”

“Your cabin air filter is looking a little dingy.”

“Oil. Change. Just change the oil,” I said, feeling a little snippy. “I don’t want anything else.”

“I understand that, sir, but we just want to make sure that you’re aware of all our services. Would you like your lawn mowed?”

I just glared at him and didn’t answer.

He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Got it. Oil change.”

He shoved a little box in my face. “Keys. Put ‘em in there.”

What? Do they think I’m stupid? Do they think I’d really start the truck when their head is under the hood? Anyway, I frowned at him and dropped my keys in the little box.

“Pop the hood, please, sir.”

I reached down and pulled the release. Nothing happened. I groaned. I seemed to remember that this had happened before and I’d had a dickens of a time releasing the hood. I yanked the release again. Nothing. Again, harder. Nothing.

So I reached way under the dash, curled my fingers around the cable trying to exert more force on it than the lever did.

Nothing.

After being so grouchy about the oil change I felt a little sheepish. I poked my head out the window. “I’ve had trouble with this before. Could you bang on the hood?” So while they waled away at my hood I grabbed the lever and pulled again and again.

Nothing.

Finally I got out of the truck, stood on the front bumper, put my full weight on the hood, and sort of bounced on it. The mechanics all kind of backed away from me at that point.

Nothing.

Oh, well. We all jointly decided that the oil change would have to wait for another day. They gave me my keys back, and started motioning for me to drive away. I think they really wanted me to leave. I started the truck, reached for the emergency brake release and—oops. No wonder the hood didn’t pop up.

Feeling really stupid, I turned off the truck, reached for the hood release lever, and the hood popped up as nice as you please.

I didn’t bother to explain. It was at this time I was very thankful there were no other customers in the store. Wouldn’t want anyone to know about this anyway. I’d never live it down.

When I was finally driving away, it occurred to me: the hood release problem I thought I remembered? It never happens on the truck. It happens on my Ford Vue.