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March 08, 2005

This Ain't Your Father's Oil Change

I had yet another realization that I'm not living in a small town any more: I had an oil change for the car.

Not really knowing what places around here are reputable, I went to the old standby: Valvoline. (Plus, I had a coupon...)

At this particular car place, there is no waiting room--you sit in your car while they work. The whole experience was somewhat like a restaurant drive-thru; I got in line and later a guy with a grease rag in his pocket came out and "took my order". Rather than asking my name, he just copied down my license plate and model of car.

When I pulled in, I was fairly shocked to see the staff: all females in their early 20s except for the grease rag guy who took down the information. Don't get me wrong; I don't have ethical issues with a gal changing my oil...I was just expecting a group of middle-aged men like they have back home.

I didn't really roll down my window during the process because it was pretty cold, but I did hear them shout across the garage, "Show-Me State" and "Hillbilly Missourian." This from people who live in the country music capital??

They drained my oil and did all the other check-up things that they do--checked the different fluids. Girl #1 pulled something out (maybe my engine? How do I know?) with wires and tinkered with all of the wires...and then crammed it back into the car rather roughly. She then proceeded to take out some sort of filter (car stuff is beyond my comprehension). Apparently it met her approval because she started to put it back in...but she couldn't.

I ended up with about 4 girls in greasy shirts trying to wedge this oil filter back in. They had some sort of crowbar thing about the size of a screwdriver. Now, since I've never actually stayed in my vehicle during an oil change, maybe this isn't uncommon. I just know that each girl took a turn smooshing my filter back in. But then they called for help...another teenaged looking kid named Jonathan. Jonathan came up the stairs (I guess the offices are downstairs, below the ground. Since they drain oil into the downstairs, there must be a whole level down there). He easily popped the filter into place, checked over Girl #1's work, and then summoned Girl #2 over. He said some stuff and pointed, and then she said some stuff and pointed, Jonathan nodded, and they put my hood down.

I was pleased with Jonathan's efficiency, but he lost all professionalism when he greased up his hands, put one hand on each rail on the side of the stairs, and slid down the flight of stairs using his hands. He looked like he was going down the stairs on an escalator except he was propelled by slippery hands. *rolling eyes*

With my coupon, I got a good deal on the lube job (I always blush when I say that even though I know it's not necessarily a obscene phrase). I am a little concerned about how Girl #1 yanked several pieces of my car out and then shoved them back in, but the car seems to be running fine, so I guess it's OK. I hope. This is one of those times I wish I knew more about cars.

Oh, and my reminder sticker didn't say "God Bless You" like my previous one did. I didn't think the sticker here would, but I must admit I was a little hopeful...

This ain't your father's oil change...welcome to the new generation of oil changers!!

Posted by Anna at March 8, 2005 05:42 PM

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Posted by: Flip at March 9, 2005 03:46 AM