I got my car back. I was a bit distressed to find out, though, that they didn't inspect it. "It would totally not have passed," said the valley girl, I mean clerk, at the dealership. Actually she was very nice and she said my car was awesome, as in, "See, like you have this cracked headlight? And it would cost a whole lot for us to get a new one so it will pass? But, like, you could get one from a junkyard and it would totally be cheaper? And, your car is awesome! But, you know, it's, like, kind of old. So maybe you want to do the cheaper thing? Also, you strike me as the kind of woman who can change her own headlights."
Yeah. I am flattered but alas, I am not that kind of woman at all. I am a weakling girly girl who has no idea where a junkyard even is now that they relocated the one in the park and completely has no idea what she would do if she ever even found said junkyard. Like, what if I break a nail trying to get that headlight out? Can I knit a new headlight? Because this is all, like, totally gnarly. And, like, ew. And, like, I don't do car repairs. Cars are for boooooys. I don't know anything about caaaars. This is sad, granted, but I somehow don't think it will change. I just want my car to work without me having to do much of anything besides leave out the occasional saucer of milk for the magic elves who run around the treadmill making it go. You know?
They also didn't clean my car at the dealership. I don't blame them one bit - cleaning my car is pretty much a labor reserved for Hercules at this point and I don't think he's looking for work - but it still made me kind of sad. When I used to go to the dealership they would completely clean and vacuum the car and leave some of those horrible little red and white hard mints on the dashboard. It was just like Leona Helmsley only without the little yapping dogs and the evil! But apparently they no longer provide the mint service. This economy has hurt us all, I guess.
However, my car is running fine - granted, my car was running fucking fine last week before I brought it in, too - but I'm operating on the belief system that it was indeed sick and now is indeed better. Actually, I'm operating on the belief system that my car chose to die at the mechanics because it loves me and doesn't want to break down on the street and make me sad but of course my belief system is the kind of thing that should be approached with extreme caution and possibly fireproof tongs. As of this afternoon, too, thanks to my good friend A, my car is essentially legal as well. My friend A took it over to a cheaper, more relaxed mechanic who passed it without replacing the theoretical cracked headlight. This makes me happy. Like, totally.