stiles

I am convinced that certain cars have a personality. Some vehicles actively resent being fixed, like a crabby person who really dosen't want to go to the doctor, but relented because listening to the nagging for one more minute would have been too much. Others are happy to be getting better, and everything goes together smoothly from start to finish. Luck plays into this, manifesting as hassles ordering and receiving the correct parts for the difficult cars and the distinct lack of such hassles for the happier cars.

Reviving an old car that has sat for years is particularly cranky. It was static in its' retirement; the mechanic is now insisting that it perform. Old parts that have rusted comfortably together in arthritic familiarity now must move again; carburator jets clogged with deposits must flow freely to feed the engine - jump-started like a flat-lined patient, but with Frankenstein cables instead of shock-paddles after being dosed with ether.

Funny that the gas that puts people to sleep wakes cars up.