grease monkey

I get my car(s) fixed a lot.

The guys down at TiresPlus (Michael, Tom, Will, Matt, and the cute one I flirted shamelessly with for a year and a half) know all about my rims, my oil pan, my transmission, my masters degree, my sub jobs, and my fiance.

The guys call me by name when I walk in and let me change the channel on the TV in the waiting area. The first summer I lived here, I remarked off-handedly that TiresPlus should have a punch card like Subway, where every 10th repair is free. They think I'm pretty funny.

This relationship has survived two and a half years, three apartments, five roommates, two cars, a million miles, and nearly that many dollars. I can only hope that my fiance and I do as well.

I know very little about spark plugs, carbuorators, mufflers, or ignition switches. But I'm learning. The guys at TiresPlus are always eager to show me what they're working on, and tell me about the variety of ways my car(s) had been injured.

As a girl, I feel fairly vulnerable when I walk into a car place. I am at the mercy of these men and their oil-stained hands. And who knows...maybe my fiance or my dad could get a more honest opinion, or a better deal, or give the mechanics specific instructions about what to fix.

I'm usually a little vague. What's wrong with my car? Well, it's "a scary humming sound" or "a wobbly feel" or "a suspicious-looking puddle in the garage." TiresPlus teaches me to trust, and have hope, and depend very practically on God's providence and mercy and the wisdom of others.

So the other day I had my car in to have the wheels aligned and the tires balanced, although I asked for it the other way around. As usual, I sat and waited, watching TLC and tying ribbons on wedding invitations. When the guys were done, I went up to the counter to pay.

Tom, who's in charge on Tuesdays, took the bill out of my hand and signed his name across the balance due. He grinned at me and said, "This one's on us. Your punch card was full."

Grace from a grease monkey.

I love TiresPlus.