Background: I had a Suburban with 165K miles on it, and was determined to get to 200K. A week before taking my son to college orientation, I took the car to a mechanic to make sure it was good to go. $900 later, they assured me it would last another year or so to hit my goal. 4 days later, the engine was stalling. Back I go, another issue, $1200, many more assurances.
So, road trip from central Florida to UGA. We get to the Florida/Georgia line (isn’t that a song?) and the damn thing starts smoking. We puttered down an exit. Dude at the service station (Yes, they still have those in the real south) fills the radiator with water. No big deal, he says, all set now. Right before THE VERY NEXT EXIT, it stops. Just stops. My son and I start pushing it down the exit, and like some old hillbilly movie, directly across from the bottom of the exit is a mechanic shop with 2 men in overalls sitting on plastic chairs on either side of the one and only bay. They watch us, while chewing on what looks like hay, while we push the car right up to them.
So, after checking it, they announce the fix is $3400. Is it parts or labor, I ask. All labor, have to take the engine apart. Well, I told them. Looks to me like you guys might have time to do this. You give me a ride to the airport, I will sign the title over to you. They jumped right on that.
Get to the airport, rent a car, proceed on the Athens trip. I called my husband, who happened to be in surgery at the time. When he gets a call during surgery, a nurse generally answers and puts it on speaker so he (and the whole room) can hear it. “I gave away that piece of shit car, I am driving to Athens in a rental. When I get back Sunday, there needs to be a Lexus SUV in the driveway, whatever color they have.”
So, for the next several years, when my hubby would work with a new anesthesiologist or nurse, or whatever, they would often be introduced to him then pause and “Hey, are you the guy whose wife ……….”
My new Lexus was a pretty blue.