How To Not Know How To Fix Cars

Car RepairThere are many types of men. There are ingenious men, effeminate men, chessplaying men, steel-driving men, and men who play electric guitars. Some men wear derby hats and play pingpong, and others comb their filthy sideburns while whistling tunelessly. It's a hell of a thing.

I think my point is that it would be pointless to assign traits to ALL men, seeing as there are so many endless combinations of beliefs, abilities, and mental illnesses a single “man” can possess. But that doesn't stop people from trying: Men drive cars like this! Men love to fistfight! Men never ask for directions! Men eat corn chips! Men open cans of soup by heaving them at obstructions!  It's obscene. But anyway, now comes the part where I tell you about one of the manthings I don't know anything about: Fixing Cars.


So...Car Repair Then

Car Hood OpenI know almost nothing about cars. Know why? It's because I don't give a shit about cars. Cars are boring. I don't know how to change the oil, I can't change a tire, I probably couldn't even change the battery if I needed to. The problem isn't that I can't learn. I just don't feel like it. My motto in life has always been “The more things I know how to do, the more things I'll have to do”. So I don't learn how to do anything. It saves me trouble.

I pop open the hood and what do I see? Plastic Tubes. Wires. Boxes. A bunch of metal stuff. “How does that thing work? Where does that tube connect to? Where're the cylinders? How do you remove the air filter? Is it alright for that thing to be covered in that stuff?”

Screw it. Don't care.

Just leave it be. I don't know how any of it works, and I don't want to know. And I'm sure as hell not about to reach my hand in there and find out, I would probably just mess it up even more. Anyway, it's grimy in there, and I hate getting dirt on my hands.


And so...

Oil Change SuckerIf I don't learn about cars, nobody'll ever expect me to work on them. I just bring it to the shop. Let someone else deal with it. Too much work. I'll pay, what do I care? 25 dollars? Take it. Take 50. As long as I can sit in an air-conditioned lobby eating skittles and watching Judge Mathis while somebody else does all the work, I'll be happy to remain BLISSFULLY ignorant of car repair, thank you very much.

Do these sentiments make me any less of a man? Perhaps in the eyes of certain types of people. Middle aged men in torn overalls. Teenaged boys shouting from the windows of purple muscle cars. Sullen truckers sucking from a meth pipe. Women with closely-cropped hair. They all look down on me.

But I don't care. I don't care what any of those fictional stereotypes I just created say. Not knowing how to perform basic auto maintenance may make me astoundingly lazy, sure, but not any less of a man.

Thank you.