car maintenance.

If there's one thing that's out of my comfort zone, it's car maintenance. Even the simplest of oil changes I have difficulty with; I always drive out of that BP confused/not satisfied with myself/lacking something I came to get done, etc. Today it was an oil change. My little car has 252, 902 miles on it. I checked my gas mileage yesterday, 35 mpg. It rocks. However, beyond that, I am severly lacking in my knowledge of the inner workings of the modern automobile. And it doesn't help that everything my buddy M (full name has been withheld to protect those not here to defend themselves) is said with a serious southern twang. (Though I am well-versed in the twang, I can't really understand him when he's behind my hood, pumping oil into my car.) "Do you want it on or off?" I asked him. Easy question, right? I still don't know what his response was, but I have reason to believe it was not one of the two options I gave him; whatever he said in response was comprised of multiple syllables. My other task today was "steering fluid." When my mother drove my car the other day (so I could eat something on the way to pick up my charges when I had woken up late), she said, "You need steering fluid." What is that? Oil for your steering wheel? So when I drove up, I said, "Oil change and steering fluid," clear as day. But, of course, human error comes into play, people forget things, I am victim to an imperfect hippocampus as well as the vast majority of our species. Needless to say, I don't think I drove out with this illustrious "steering fluid." It was not on my receipt, though it did say "taxable amount: $16.00, total amount: $31.99." I just handed my card over like the typical clueless customer. Also behind the hood, my buddy M mentioned to me that something is "looking really dirty... And I recommended it to ya last time and I'm mo recommend it to ya 'gin; it's a killer for gas mileage." (Mileage. Which on my sticker for my next oil change is spelled "milage." Once again, humans make mistakes, maybe it was a rough day at work.) I have no idea what that "something" is, and I was too confused about my total to really ask anything. So. Upstairs in my room is a book I borrowed from the library, entitled "How Women Win the Auto Repair Game." This must be my karmic cue to crack it open.