Apparently it’s a pretty important piece of equipment for your car that should be changed every now and then. Oh really? Someone forgot to tell me that. Cars are not my thing. Other than washing my car, keeping the inside clean, and keeping her filled up with gas, I have never been responsible for things car related. Griff handles that. And before Griff, my Dad. Oh sure, my Dad taught me how to check my oil and how to change a tire. But fuel filters? Come on, give a girl a break. Since we’ve been married Griff has handled my car. He even changes my oil for me… in our driveway. {I love that he’s a mans-man!} Hey, I think it’s a pretty good trade. I cook and clean for him and he changes my oil. {Though I have to admit that Griff does laundry WAY better than me.}
So yesterday morning, bright and early at 6:15 I got into my car to leave for work. I turn the key and nope. She’s not crankin’ up. Maybe she had too many vodka’s on Sunday watchin’ some football and she just doesn’t want us to go to work. Oh wait, maybe that was me. But I digress. I try again. Nada. Still nothin’. I go back in the house to wake my sleeping husband. {Yes, I leave for work before he even gets up.} And let me tell you, he’s happy as a clam to get up and go outside where it’s cold, and dark, and oh, 6:20 in the morning. {Insert sarcastic face here.} So he tried to crank her up. Nope. Not happenin’. She’s having non of it. Awesome. What in the hell did I do to her anyway?
It was decided that I will take Griff to work in his truck, take his truck to my work, then pick him up from his work. Got that? I arrived at work an hour late but still in time for our Monday Morning Meeting, so all was not lost. Whew. Crisis averted. Well one crisis anyway.
Griff’s friend Mark works on cars as a side job and Mark sweetly agreed to come take a look at it. Griff and Mark also work together so they cut out a bit early to get started on my ride. When I arrived home yesterday I was a bit surprised to see my back seat ripped out and both Griff and Mark’s heads were hanging over the fuel tank. {I’m surprised they weren’t giggling like school girls with as much fumes they must have inhaled.} Apparently the fuel filter is located near the fuel tank. Duh. And most fuel tanks are located under the back seats. Riiiiiight. I knew that.
While Mark was working on changing the fuel filter Griff was working on changing my air filter. Just in case this filter decides she doesn’t want to work anymore either. This was done by ripping off my glove box and my center console. Poor girl, never saw these guys comin’.
While the boys were working on filters I took this opportunity to vacuum the heck out from under the seats. Apparently when you take your car to get detailed at the detail shop up the street they don’t feel it’s at all necessary to vacuum under your seats. This is what the boys found when they removed the back seat. Can you say GA-ROSS!!!! Dog hair galore! And a French fry. And a plastic pink ring. And gum wrappers. You get the idea.
The boys got the filters in and I got her all vacuumed up so she’s as good as new. Well maybe not, but at least she has clean filters and no more French fries.
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