I stopped by the Parking Office (the Tomb of Despair) at campus today, to get a summer parking pass. Since it's summertime, there's actually parking spaces open, so I might as well save the walk. When I stopped my Jeep, I noticed a knocking sound under the hood. I figured I'd check after I returned, since the engine was boiling hot.
I forgot about it, and when I tried to start the engine later, I heard a hideous clunk and then the starter motor spinning free. Fearing that the gear had shattered, I got a rag to open the hood (still boiling hot, and not helped by being black-colored in the scorching Texas sun). The starter motor had fallen out the bottom of the engine, hanging free on a bracket. "The fuck?" I exclaim, before cursing out the piece of shit. Well, can't work on it when the engine block is still 300 degrees to the touch, so I talked my way onto the Disabled Shuttle and rode to class.
Five hours later, I hike back in the afternoon sun. Luckily, the engine has cooled relatively enough that I wouldn't scald myself working on it. First, I had to unbolt the remaining bracket and make sure the gear was still intact. Thank you, oh capricious and tormentful Lord, that it was. Then, laying on my back on the asphalt, under a still warm engine block neath the Texas sky, the whole undercarriage absolutely caked in grease and oil, I had to hold up the starter while bolting it back on. With most cars, this wouldn't be too difficult. With a Jeep, the torque-monster motor means the starter is a 35lbs block that has to be crammed and twisted into position and loves to fall out on my neck. You know how hard it is to hold up a greasy 35lbs can with one hand while laying on your back and tightening a stubborn bolt with an equally greasy wrench? It's hard.
But, with some mismatched tools, a shit-ton of elbow grease to go with the engine grease, and my father's arrogant, mocking, drunken voice echoing in my head, I managed to twist the whole thing back together tighter than an Amish asshole. I called Dad up to gloat, and he was impressed by my new analogy.
I didn't mention that when I walked off for class five hours earlier, I had left my keys in the engaged ignition, so the battery was almost dead. Thank you again, oh capricious and merciful Lord, for leaving just enough juice in the block that I didn't have to bum a charge. Dad will never know of this.
tl;dr With a lot of hard wrench-spinning and spite for my father, I saved myself from my own incompetence, and got super dirty in the process. That's about as manly as it gets.
Author
Topic: [MILK] There were 12 eggs here what did you do with them? (Happy thread?!) (Read 16321725 times)