DO YOU KNOW THE MUFFLER MAN?

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You may recall a while back when my car blew up.

Well, not completely blew up. But for all intents and purposes quit working, and produced only slightly less smoke than an overbooked AA meeting.

When this happened, I took it a to mechanic who told me what the problem was. I do not remember what it was now, because I know about as much about cars as cars know about me. Let’s just say I had an off balance transfigulator.

Anywho, when the guy was checking out my car, he also told me that I had a hole in my muffler and needed to get that fixed. We had the following conversation:

ME: Is that free?

MECHANIC: Huh? No.

ME: Is it necessary?

MECHANIC: Define “necessary.”

ME: Will a fireball result?

MECHANIC: Most likely not.

So needless to say, I postponed this little repair. My feeling is, if it ain’t broke AND about to put myself as well as other motorists in potential fatal danger, don’t fix it.

Fast forward to a year later. I had kinda noticed that my car seemed a little louder, but I just chalked that up to having 100,000+ miles on it. I pulled in my driveway one day and my neighbor said something to me. I rolled down my window to hear better. He said it again. I turned down my radio to get him to repeat it one more time. Finally, I decided I should cut off the lawnmower that was apparently running in the backseat.

At that point, I realized that I rarely, if ever, had a running lawnmower in my backseat. I shut my car off completely to hear what my neighbor had to say. He told me my car was running loud.

I hate it when I know something is wrong with my car, because there is a very good chance I will have no clue what is wrong. If a tire is flat or the gas gauge is stuck on E, I can figure out the problem. Outside of that, you might as well have me running a diagnostics check on the space shuttle.

But, being driven by that y-chromosome the way I am, I nonetheless decided to find the cause of the problem. I was pretty sure the sound was coming from the rear of the car, and I knew that at one point there had been an unwelcome hole back there, so I decided to start there.

And, lo and behold, Mechanic Mike was able to diagnose the problem in no time flat! I felt the surge of testosterone as I scooched up under my car, surveyed the problem, and determined exactly what was wrong. I was to car repair what a surgeon is to body repair.

OK, granted, it was kinda easy when you get under a car and see the muffler almost completely disconnected from the car, hanging about two inches from the ground. The pipe going into the muffler had rusted out, save for a small little chunk that was keeping the muffler from dragging along behind me. To continue with the surgeon comparison, this would be like walking in carrying your leg (or, I guess, hopping in), and having a surgeon say, “Uh, I’m gonna say you’re having leg issues…”

Knowing that I was having muffler issues, I started calling around. I called one place and asked him how much a muffler cost. He asked me for what kind of car. What is this, an interrogation?

Eventually, I told him the car model, and he asked me if I needed the 14-inch pipe and the seven-foot pipe. I repeated to him that I needed a muffler. He told me that the muffler had to connect to something. Slowly, I caught on.

“Well, let’s just say I need the 14-inch and the seven footer,” I said. “Why not price them out individually for me.” I was feeling confident that he knew he was dealing with a man who drove a hard bargain.

“Whatever,” he said. I’m going to just assume that his indifference was a direct result of his fear of my negotiating tactic.

Eventually, I took my car in to the mechanic, and it now purrs like a kitten. In fact, it was a fairly simple job, and it only took them about 20 minutes to finish it. They told me that all it needed was a muffler and a 14-inch pipe. Truth be told, though, I would have paid for them to balance the transfigulator.