Car Maintenance And Other Shit I Don't Do...

Back in the day (pre-marriage), if my car needed attention, all I had to do was visit my parents. I’d park behind my dad’s car, blocking him from leaving the driveway. Chances were good that while I was visiting, Dad would need to go somewhere. He’s always been pretty antsy. I would bet that he visits the convenience store down the street at least 5 times a day…there are always lottery tickets to buy, and cigarettes, and beer, and the occasional Slurpee if a kid happened to be visiting. “Here! Just take my car,” I’d say, tossing my car keys at him when he asked me to let him out of the driveway. My car would be returned with a full tank of gas, completely clean, vacuumed, and spritzed with “new car scent”. Also, if he noticed I was due for an oil change, he’d take care of that, too. And, if I needed an inspection or registration renewed, he’d sift through the glove box for the paperwork and he’d take care of that shit, too.

So, it came as a bit of a shock to me when, after announcing that I was getting married, Dad pulled me aside for a bit of tough love.

Dad: After you get married, I won’t be helping you with your car upkeep anymore.
Me: WHAT?
Dad: You heard me. You think you’re slick asking me to drive your car every time you visit, huh? Well, I’m done with that shit. Your husband can do it now!
Me: Fine. It’s a guy thing anyway, I’m sure he knows what’s up.

Turns out, Hubber did NOT know what’s up. Hubber had no fucking clue what up was. But, in my defense, that mofo was WARNED. Short of having him sign a formal acknowledgement, I relayed his duty very clearly. I considered the warning a binding agreement wherefore by nodding his head when I broke the news to him, he agreed to be in charge of all motorized vehicles throughout the course of our marriage regardless of whether he drove the shit or not. Cars would be his responsibility. Period. End of story.

Without regard to his sacred vows, over the years Hubber has tried tirelessly to get me to learn something about cars. But, I remain resistant to his badgering. It is one of our on-going “fights”.

Hubber: You NEED to learn this shit! One of these days, I’m gonna die and you’ll be left to fend for yourself!
Me: In this hypothetical situation, will you die before or after my dad dies?
Hubber: I’m being serious here.
Me: I don’t think you understand. If you aren’t here to do the car stuff, I’ll find some other man to do it… I have two brothers…an uncle…cousins… nephews and if those mofos are all dead, too, I’ll have to find a Sancho!
Hubber: OR!!! You could learn to be self-sufficient!
Me: Hey, look, buddy… you agreed to this shit BEFORE we got married. It was practically part of your vows! So, just do your thang and let me do my thang! You should be thankful that I usually get my own gas!
Hubber: And, what exactly is your thing?
Me: Well, most importantly, I dispose of spiders.

Hubber: (blank stare)

That usually shuts him up for a bit. Because if there’s one thing Hubber hates more than trying to teach me lessons in automotive technology, it’s spiders.

Unfortunately, the oldest spawn has inherited my total disregard for proper car upkeep. She’s already killed the hand-me-down car she was given less than a year ago. And, that car was a TANK. Literally. But, if anyone could wreck a tank TO IT’S DEATH, it’s my female spawn.

And, Hubber isn’t as easy on her as he is on me about car maintenance. He pushes and pushes AND PUSHES that shit on her…hoping that one tiny ounce of knowledge will seep into her brain and spread like wildfire. Unfortunately, she’s her mother’s daughter and she just ain’t wired that way. And more unfortunate than that, she hasn't got a thing to leverage against his badgering. She is scared to death of spiders. And, she doesn’t cook or clean. And, she sucks at babysitting. Basically, she’s got nothing for tradesies... so she’s screwed.

So, when she killed her car, we decided she didn’t deserve a “good” car… just a “reliable one”; one that we won’t expect to survive more than 2-3 years.

Hubber went out and found an old car with very good mileage and bought it. The passenger window didn’t work and the radio had two modes: OFF and ON+LOUD. (The volume didn’t work…and neither did the cassette player…  and all the stations were a bit static-y.) But, the car had new tires, a great engine and only one previous owner.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

Unless you're the spawn...in which case, no auxiliary input and/or USB drive is like a death sentence.

Car-Killing-Spawn: But, Daddy, how will I listen to my music?!
Hubber: You don’t need to listen to music when your focus should be on driving and not dying!
Car-Killing-Spawn: Daddy! I’ll DIE without my music!
Hubber: Tough shit!
Me: (serious eye roll)
Littlest Spawn: That’s what you get for killing Tank, Sis! How do you think Tank feels right now – all dead and everything?! You don’t deserve music! You're lucky to even have a car!

Two days later…

Hubber: Don’t be mad.
Me: Why would I be mad?
Hubber: I just spent money we don’t have.
Me: Please tell me you bought me a baby platypus…
Hubber: Uhm. No.
Me: ….it better not be that gas-powered margarita blender…
Hubber: …no….
Me: ….or the portable hot tub…!
Hubber: I will be buying that hot tub soon!! But, that’s not what I bought.
Me: a ninja star coat hook?
Hubber: Please just give up already.
Me: Fine. I give up.
Hubber: I bought a new radio for Julie’s hoopty ride.
Me: What!? I thought we were teaching her a lesson!
Hubber: I can’t help it. I like to put smiles on my daughters' faces.

So, there you have it. This is why we will always get away with NOT doing car stuff.

Boom.

Car stuff isn't all I don't do. I also don't do windows... or yard work... or heavy lifting... or any variation of running. This is why I have a husband. I will, however, kill spiders and fetch beer. It's a good thing Hubber loves a nifty beer wench.

Whatever Became of Mr. EXcalade?

Hubber used to have this colleague who started his own chauffeuring business on the side. He bought a Cadillac Escalade around prom season and constantly pimped himself out to anyone who would listen to his spiel.

But, he kept calling his car an EX-CALADE. It drove Hubber batshit crazy. At least once a week I’d get an earful about how much it bugged him that the guy couldn’t say the word “ESCALADE” properly.

At first, I asked Hubber to give the guy a break…  maybe he has a lisp. But, then, I met the guy to try to help him build his website and I got to experience his blatant disregard for proper pronunciation first-hand. Honestly, I couldn’t get past it. I started counting the number of times he said the word wrong. It’s what I do when someone uses a particular word (or fake word, in this case) a lot. I quit listening to the message because I get stuck on that word and my mind completely shuts down so that it can focus on counting the number of times the word spews forth and attempts to turn my brain to mush.

After our first meeting, I told Hubber there was no fucking way I’d be able to work with that guy.

Hubber: Right?! It’s because he says Excalade, huh?

Me: He said it exactly 53 times during our 30 minute meeting.

Hubber:  Could it be that he doesn't know that he’s saying it wrong?

Me: Oh, he knows! He’s doing it on purpose to fuck with us. It’s like those people who say “ax” instead of “ask”! They know they’re saying that shit wrong! They think it’s cute!

Hubber: Well, it's not cute. These people are a menace to society. I’m going to have to quit my job to get away from this idiot.

So, one day, before Hubber went completely AWOL (or worse, homicidal), he decided to confront the guy.

Hubber: Maaaan. If you call your Escalade an Excalade one more time, I’m going to have to punch you square in the fucking mouth.

Mr. Excalade: What are you talking about? It IS pronounced EXcalade.

Hubber: The letters E and S together make the “essss” sound not the “exxx” sound.

Mr. Excalade: Oh, I’m not saying the name of the car. I’m saying the name of my company! I spell it: X-C-A-L-A-D-E. It’s a play on words, man! Don’t you get it?!

Hubber: It is NOT a play on words. It’s a word you fucking made up and it sounds ridiculous, like you don’t know how to pronounce the name of the car properly.

Mr. Excalade: Well, I have a buddy who is an expert in marketing and he says that any company name or new product name starting with the letter X is 90% more likely to be successful.

Hubber: That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard all year!

Mr. Excalade: I’m serious! He’s an expert! He had statistics and everything!

The next day, by some mysterious circumstances that I wasn’t made privy to, Mr. Excalade was “transferred to another department” and we never spoke of him (nor heard from him) again. I'm not saying that Hubber was somehow involved in foul play...but I am saying that the guy was never reported missing... so.... who really knows...?

And to this day, anytime I see the “clever” use of an X in front of the name of a business, I think about this guy and wonder if his business ever took off.

Then, today, I saw this truck:

... COULD IT BE...??