The "check engine" light came on in my car. So I go to my trusty neighborhood mechanic and say, "WTF?"
He plugs in his diagnostic dew-hickey and says, "uh, oh".
"It's the transmission, isn't it?" says I.
"Indeed it is." says he.
"Of course it is." says I.
fuckity fuck fuck fuck!!!
I laugh maniacally.
He sends Esmeralda, the dirty bitch, to the transmission specialist who rebuilt it a year and a half ago for further investigation.
tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock (Hey, I got some knitting done!)
Esmeralda rolls back in. I brace for the news and start imagining how I can get in a bad enough accident to total the car, without messing myself up too badly, so that I'll have a pocket full of insurance cash to embark on my next automotive adventure. (as an aside, I'm totally freaking through with automatic transmissions . . . and Fords . . . It's OVER!!)
They checked it out. Some "overdrive band" came off which triggered the "check engine" light. They replaced the band, took it on a test drive (and oked it), and cleared the warning light. All that for the low low cost of $ 0.00! I could have kissed them all, but contrary to what you might think, I'm particular about where I put my mouth.
Sometimes, a sista can get a mutha f'n break.
P.S. Esmeralda and I kissed and made up.