I know that not everybody works on their own cars. There is a sizable portion of the population that barely comprehends what goes on underneath their hood. Many are completely lost after “check oil” and a scary amount don’t even comprehend that. Go search on YouTube for videos about cars that haven’t had their oil changed in five years or so…you’ll see how 10W30 can turn from an oil to a jelly or worse, brownie batter. Seriously, you will see oil so cooked that you’d think that Grandma made brownies in an oil pan…and that’s scary stuff. But I understand…between work, home, and the allure of the smartphone, people in general aren’t as mechanic-savvy as they used to be. It’s frankly why my cranky ass, along with a legion of others in the field, still have jobs. People will pay for a subject matter expert to tell them how badly their car is screwed up. It’s a living!

Compared to mechanics/technicians and service advisors, parts store folk get off pretty easy when it comes to the diagnosing thing purely because of the job. We are here to sell you things, not to go figure out why your 1997 Plymouth Breeze sounds like three bags of marbles got dumped down the intake’s throat whenever you rev the engine. We can tell you that noise means “effing expensive”, but let the tech tell you what really happened and why the #3 piston is in fourteen pieces. We are still looked at as some form of “expert” by the general public, so occasionally we get asked to help out. Look, if you’re asked to help change a bulb, help change a bulb. If someone’s having a shitty day and you can help get them back on the road…or, at least, help end their suffering for that afternoon…do it. Please, take the high road and be the help that they were seeking out.

But this part, I want you to show to your non-car folk that you know: some things we won’t do because they are just too damn dangerous for us! Case in point: I’m friends with a lady who recently hopped behind the counter to put in some hours. And she’s already got stories that remind me why my shirts are in the “work rag” pile in the garage. A man comes in and buys a radiator cap for his car, and asks if she can go out there and install it onto the car that he drove to the store in.

I’ve taken that steam bath a time or two thanks to a vehicle with a faulty radiator cap and a cracked thermostat inlet. It sucks. It’s the kind of event that, once the initial screaming and pain are over with, leaves you so angry that you legally might not be held accountable for your actions for. So why in the absolute hell would you ask another human being to willingly do it themselves? Ok, so you’re not car-savvy. Let me help you. Give me your hand. I’m going to place it on the silver shiny thing right here. Hear that hiss noise when your hand touched it? Reminds you of that time you touched that glowing red thing on the stove, right? THAT’S BECAUSE IT’S HOT, YOU GENIUS! I’m not dealing with a 200 degree mixture of ethylene glycol and steam because you confuse your key fob with your iPod.

You want to install it on a car you drove twenty miles to the store in? I’ll be standing by with the garden hose to shower you with the coldest water I can find to offset your Turkish bath. Then, seeing how your day has gone to hell, I’ll be the helpful clerk and call the ambulance for you.

-UPCG