My Car Broke

I was going back to work from QuikTrip when my charging system light came on.  It's that little battery light with the plus and minus above it.  As a purveyor of hoopties, the first thing I thought was "My alternator is shot."  Actually my first thought was "Motherfucking Chyrsler!!!" but then the alternator.

Now, being the foolish nigga that I am, I drove on that shit for 2 and a half days like that.  See, the light had come on on a Tuesday (my birthday no less) and payday isn't until Friday.  Therefore and henceforth, I was riding.  That is, until I turned off of I-435 and the power steering failure light went out, which meant the battery was dying, which means I had about 2 minutes before my car stopped altogether.

I almost made it to my exit.  As far as the sign says I was a mile and a half away.  Luckily there is a little rest stop right there so instead of being stuck on the side of I-70, I was stuck at a rest stop... during the worst thunderstorm of this summer so far.  I called the Department of Transportation knowing damned well that they don't fix alternators and they said they would send someone out.

Thirty minutes, nobody.

An hour, nobody.

An hour and a half and my wife finally called me back and I let her know my situation so she wouldn't worry.  As the call ended, my phone read a whole 4 percent.  That's when Department of Transportation finally showed.  I explained to the kind old white dude, who seemed to be working a retirement job to keep busy, that the car would not start and it was probably the alternator.  In old white man terms he said "Let's jump this bitch and get you home.  It was rainy as fuck and now that it's stopped, it's was humid as fuck."  Again, paraphrasing.  We Jumped the car and et it charge for about 5 minutes and I made it all the way to my exit... well almost.  It was maybe 50 yards from my exit but a solid first down.  Instead of DOT giving me a more time to charge my battery to, I don't know, make it to my fucking wife and children, he pushed my car with his ford explorer down my off ramp.  Why did he do that?  Because in the failed attempt to make it 1.5 milles we passed not one, but two fucking accidents and he needed to help people with bigger problems, other than they bought a Chrysler.

I counted my blessings, thanked the nice man and called my wife.  Fucking voicemail.

Like everyone else's battery life meter, mine is goddamned lie.

Four percent means: You got one shot, champ.  I hope your life isn't in danger.  My life wasn't in danger but the next time I looked as my phone it was dead, which meant I had a two mile walk in front of me.

Luckily, instead of the overbearing humidity, mother nature decided that rain would be slightly less cruel and, to the credit of mother nature it was much, much nicer.  It rained pretty much for the next 45 minutes.  My only respite, a stop at Family Dollar for a Black and Mild which did not go out for the last 20 minutes of the trip; rain and all.

Next day, me and the wife tried to get the car jumped well enough to drive it home and that didn't work for shit.  Luckily she called her father who came to lend a hand.  He had two things that would come in handy;  A jump box and  tools.  The jump box actually got the car started for about 30 seconds.  Then we took it off and it died.

Bless his heart, he drove to Autozone and bought me a new battery to switch out because, a dead battery will get you nowhere, alternator be damned and guess what happened.  The car made it all the way to O'riley's auto parts where a friendly young girl ran a charging test on the system.  But listen, changing the battery on this car is a serious matter.  Some genius in Detroit found it perfectly fine if you have to take the tire off to change the battery.  Youtube it.  I'm not fucking around.  I did this on the side of an off ramp and sat for half an hour watching the sun set while pops came back with a new one.  That had to be said.

Moving on, I like Oriley's  parts store.  The people aren't over friendly which makes you think they know what they are doing.  They also aren't assholes so you feel comfortable asking them questions.  She put the little clips on my battery posts.  Read her little report and somehow decided that it was not my alternator but a part of the computer, the ECM, that must have failed and if I were a saavy consumer, I could find a by pass on the internet and save hundreds of dollars.

At this point, every man comes to a crossroads.  He can either attempt some dumb ass shit he's never even heard of, suggested by some 20 year old at a parts store or take the fucking car to a mechanic and know it's running fine when it leaves.

So I'm researching this bypass shit on the internet and it looks like cake.  A wire splice here, a ground there and voila, pennies saved, yo.  But no.

A couple of days later I get the part and crack open the hood.  Things are going swimmingly until I run in to the one thing that Chrysler over does: Clamps.  The Clamp that connects the alternator to its wires frustrated me to the degree that I just cut it off and spliced the wires by hand.  If that sounds stupid to you, gold star, it very much is.

This is about a week after my car stopped on the highway, now.  The whole time I have to catch a ride to and from work, via my brother in-law (who's gift shall be substantial in this life, not the next one) and a co-worker who can't drive for shit but lives maybe a whole mile away.  I thoroughly enjoyed the company of my brother-in-law on the way in as we are birds of a feather and really appreciated the ride home because we never died.

Back to the car, I get the little gadget all installed semi properly after during some probably illegal electrical work. Aaaaand. It doesn't work for shit.  I got all ready to celebrate by banging the back out of the wife, ask for a raise at work and maybe even punch a nigga or two after my affirmed manliness.  I got it started up and it promptly died.  So did my erection, self worth and ability to fight... Two days later, I called BK at over at Autowerks to tell him about my charging system.

He suggested that I get my battery completely charged and just drive my car to his shop OR call a tow truck and pay 107 dollars.

I took the wife's car to get the battery charged.  Which meant, again, taking the fucking the tire off in what seemed to be a tornado of mosquitoes, a mosquinato if you will.  Also, the journey would entail replacing the battery and praying my way across town to the mechanic and finding a way home.

Steps one and two went off without a hitch.  For step 3, I took a 15 dollar uber but aciidentally dropped my fucking Black and Milds in the car.  Enjoy that, Mike in the Kia Spectra.

The next day the mechanic called to scold me about my ill fated repair but it didn't mean shit after it already emasculated me by itself.

Long story short, I have to give my favorite mechanic a week's worth of my earnings to A) undo my "handy work" and B) replace the alternator which I knew was the problem all of 10 seconds after the fucking light came on...

What did I learn?  Fuck auto parts store employees and YouTube instructions.  Also, just maybe my first intuitions aren't bullshit.  Lastly, I may have married in to a family that maybe regret being associated with me but hey, what ya gonna do?  In the same vein, thanks big sister for an awesome husband even if he gets me to work 30 minutes late (We have to stop for Black and Milds, due to my lack of car).