I'm hip, guys.
At least I tell myself I am for certain periods of time before I have self-realization relapses and reality shows up again.
One such occasion happened not too long ago...
I drive a large vehicle.
Large. It's kind of embarrassing to drive around all on my lonesome actually. Brad has made it abundantly clear to me that driving a tank is in my best interest so that's what I cruise around in. Alone. Getting dirty looks from Prius drivers and environmentalists. Sorry guys...
So a while ago the "tank" needed an oil change and being the industrious, able-bodied girl that I am I opted to do it myself. No problem, I can change a tire...I'm basically a mechanic. I got my wrench and my fresh oil and parked the car at the top of our driveway. I put on my cool "I work on cars" jeans and found myself a pan to drain the oil into. (At this point in the evening Brad is en route from work...if I time things perfectly he should be pulling up right as I finish changing the oil...which is when he will be struck by my amazing car skills and irresistible hotness)
Under the tank I scoot, sleeves rolled up, wrench in hand, I got this.
The pan is positioned I unscrew the plug and I'm in business.
Then I started thinking about some basic scientific measurements....
I drive a very big car so it stands to reason that there would be a good bit of oil to drain...unfortunately I got too caught up in being awesome to think much about reason though, so it was only as I watched the oil shooting out of the tank and into the pan with increasing gusto that I started getting a sinking feeling that perhaps something large enough to hold a good sized casserole wasn't going to cut it. My pan started looking very, very small. It was looking very, very full too.
Within the next 4 seconds the pan overflowed, I shot out from under the car and into the garage trying to find something,
anything to catch the remaining 50 gallons of oil...no such luck. I watched in horror as the oil poured out of my car and down our driveway, a tragic testament to my skill and forethought.
This is where things get hazy. My first reaction was to run inside my house and hide. From who? Not sure. I just needed a small dark space to regroup and my coat closet was available. After I hid I figured it would be a good idea to hide the
evidence instead of myself, so I dumped my casserole dish full of oil into our trashcan. Not a good idea in case you wondered.
Then I ran through a list of things that would be able to absorb the huge oil spill covering our driveway in 5 minutes..which was approximately how much time I had before Brad got home. Baking soda? Dry laundry detergent? Help? I tried a few things but eventually came to grips with the fact that in spite of my efforts, Brad would probably notice the massive amounts of engine oil seeping into our driveway and might have some questions regarding the incriminating puddle in the bottom of our trashcan. I figured if I called him before he got home maybe I could salvage my reputation, it would be better than hiding in a coat closet.
I can't say that my reputation was salvaged since I discovered not long after talking to Brad that he has never really thought of me as the cute-mechanic type (my world is shattered) instead he suggested I take the car to have a real mechanic do it next time...
...apparently they have bigger casserole dishes.
xoxo,
Rae
