Finding a good mechanic is important if you have a car which outlived it's maintenance plan. The alternative is to find a spouse who keeps on buying the new cars, or stumble onto a diamond in a field. Since I do not consider the first alternative viable on our family income, and do not walk about in stray fields too frequently, I am searching for the mechanic.
My wife called me to the car one evening after I returned from work. She opened to bonnet of the Citroen, walked around to the front of the car, and expertly pointed to the oil top up inlet. Her analysis was complete when she said, "I am sure there should be an oil cap there."
I never rated her as a mechanical expert, but she was right. Where there should have been an oil cap, there was none. I am also not the type that take the car apart for weekend fun, but I am no fool when it comes to general mechanics. I had to say something to highlight my intellect in the field, then uttered, "This is serious, it has to be sorted, and quick". Fast turning into Chief Investigator, I started interrogating her as to when last did she check oil, fill the car with fuel, open the bonnet to admire its interior. She immediately understood that I was trying to make her the imbecile who lost an oil cap, and thus her responses were measured and evasive. This did not help the situation, as the cap was no longer there, and arguing and questioning would not return it. Despite this reality we gave it a go for about ten minutes.
My wife then came up with the plan, "I will find a new cap, and in the process get a reliable mechanic to check the car out properly". This was easier said than done. It turns out that Citroen has nothing, as far as oil caps are concerned, in relation with any other car. There are also plenty of knowledgeable mechanics around, but they are allergic to Citroen.
She met Sam, working in an auto parts shop, a few days later. They tested no less than 14 different oil caps, and concocted a fit by adding some o-rings to one, before they achieved some level of success. Sam told her to call later for a good Citroen mechanic's number. The news was shared eagerly at dinner, and my wife could smell success.
The number belonged to Mike, an eager mechanic. I drove to his shop, and found a man resembling Andy Cap, but the cap was replaced with a dark blue, and well worn, artist's beret. He explained in detail how he went to France for his apprenticeship on Citroen, and would have my Picasso in top notch without breaking a sweat. The beret almost made his story sound authentic, "an original relic from those training days", I thought. The shop was no more than a double deep, double garage with an air hoist in the far most right-hand bay. There were however three cars in various states of disassembly, stored half on to of each other, in the left-hand bays. Another car, without engine was parked on the pavement. None of these were going anywhere soon, that was clear. Not an encouraging sight for a client who will shortly hand over his car keys and retreat to home, whilst this automotive assassin goes to work. First things first however, he needed to test drive the car for a full assessment of the damage.
He got into the driver seat, and then I noticed his hands. They had all the digits connected in full, but they were tiny. I have never seen a mechanic with such small hands, "how does he hold spanners with those, and he does need both hands to pick up an oil filter", I thought, but said nothing. He pulled out of his shop's driveway, and we set off. I explained about the oil cap fiasco, and was assured that would be dealt with. There was also the loose engine cover, which I thought was just an added nuisance, but Mike was ready for that challenge too. Mike was connected to every scrap yard that has an unlimited supply of usable parts for Citroen, and as such even the cost would be marginal, he assured me.
About a kilometre further I noticed the black Navara 4x4 driving slowly. Mike looked at the car with serious interest. Blood turned cold in my veins when Mike started to gain the driver's attention, it was a textbook hi-jacking scene unfolding in front of me and I was surely going to find out what my role in this would be, pretty soon. I said nothing. Mike wanted the driver of the car to stop, and he became adamant. "Did I hand over my keys to chop shop master of all Citroens? That would explain the shop set-up with the decomposing vehicles", was the reoccurring thought in my mind. Then the impossible happened.
At the red traffic light, Mike got out of my car, left the motor running and casually strolled over to the Navara parked slightly ahead of us. He made good ground for a chubby fellow, and by the time the Navarra's driver realized what was going on, his door was pulled opened, and Mike relieved him of his car keys. I cannot describe everything said there. From the colourful language and accusations however, it was clear that this fellow owes Mike money. The traffic light turned green and red no less than three times before Mike thought he expressed his unhappiness in full. He returned to my car with the built up traffic applauding his efforts with high pitch erratic horns blowing.
As Mike got into the Citroen, already apologizing for the chaos he created, the Navara driver came over and very politely asked for his keys. These were given to him, and he made sure to disappear, not waiting for the light to turn green before thundering off. Mike then went on to explain that that guy with the expensive car owes him money, and he hates to see people live rich and not pay their dues. "No matter what he does, I'll pay this guy", I said to myself. This went on until we got back to the shop.
Mike offered to drop me off at home, and then return to work on the car. "It will be about two hours", he said. "How much?", I asked. No response came for quite a while, then he said, "Not much, nothing big wrong. Give me your number and I call you when I know." He pointed to the young lady sat in one of the wrecks to the left of the garage. I went to her, and she took down my number. She did not say much, a real shy and tiny woman.
On the way home I thought, "I do not want his guy to know exactly where I live". I directed him to a neighbours' house. Then I allowed him to disappear from sight before I ran across the road to my house. Upon entry my wife was quite surprised to see me with no car and said, "Is the car stolen?". "No time for a joke like that", I responded and explained what a lovely fellow Mike turned out to be, and he would be attending to her car's every need.
Three agonizing hours later I did not receive any word of Mike. I rang him three times in the following half hour, but received only his voice mail. "This is not right, what if he is chop shop man, or on the way to he border?", my wife lectured me. This was all the motivation I needed to jump into action, if only to escape from her suggestions. I drove to the workshop.
From a distance I recognized the silhouette of the Citroen, an elongated oversized white drop like shape. The bonnet was still open, but all was connected with hinges. The lack of parts stripped off became clearer when I stopped for a closer inspection. Relieved about my discovery, I made my way over to the lady in the one wreck who took my number earlier. "Where is Mike?", I asked. "I don't know, he left a long time ago. I paced over to the man working on the engine cover whilst asking, "Why did you not call me as agreed with a quote?". "I tried to call Mike, but cannot find him", came her response. I stood there for a while and realized they know the level of my mistrust now, then turned to leave. My parting message, "Let me know how much I need to pay for the service, and when the car is ready".
Another hour passed and I found myself on the way to the workshop again. This time however invited as the car was ready, and accompanied by my wife. Upon arrival, Mike greeted us with a wide smile and explained that the missing oil cap was found on a cover at the bottom of the engine, "It must have fallen in there somehow." That was the least of my worries, the car was not hacked to pieces, or stripped to parts, and that was a relief to me, but I said nothing to that effect. "You never gave me a quote", I told him. With a huge frown he shouted at the girl "Shany, sort out the customer", and disappeared. The girl kindly asked for R892. "What a bargain" I thought, as a less successful service cost me more than R3000 two years prior. I paid, we greeted and set off to home.
We had a coffee whist discussing the bargain we just received. Then the phone rang and a familiar number appeared, it was Sam. She was in a panic, asking "Did you get your car back already?". "Yes, but why?". "Mike came in this morning and ordered lots of parts without paying, including your spares for the service. He just came back, and refuses to pay for them now. He left without paying." She protested. "And what does this have to do with me?", I enquired. "Well, it is your parts, did you pay him, and how much?", she asked. "I really do not understand why you call me, your deal is with Mike, isn't it?", I finished off. "Ok", she accepted and greeted reluctantly.
Mike called a few days later, enquiring if I was happy with the service. He also located a replacement oil dipstick, as he noticed mine was a bit worse for wear. All this cemented my trust in this highly recommendable character to weary Citroen owners.
He got into the driver seat, and then I noticed his hands. They had all the digits connected in full, but they were tiny. I have never seen a mechanic with such small hands, "how does he hold spanners with those, and he does need both hands to pick up an oil filter", I thought, but said nothing. He pulled out of his shop's driveway, and we set off. I explained about the oil cap fiasco, and was assured that would be dealt with. There was also the loose engine cover, which I thought was just an added nuisance, but Mike was ready for that challenge too. Mike was connected to every scrap yard that has an unlimited supply of usable parts for Citroen, and as such even the cost would be marginal, he assured me.
About a kilometre further I noticed the black Navara 4x4 driving slowly. Mike looked at the car with serious interest. Blood turned cold in my veins when Mike started to gain the driver's attention, it was a textbook hi-jacking scene unfolding in front of me and I was surely going to find out what my role in this would be, pretty soon. I said nothing. Mike wanted the driver of the car to stop, and he became adamant. "Did I hand over my keys to chop shop master of all Citroens? That would explain the shop set-up with the decomposing vehicles", was the reoccurring thought in my mind. Then the impossible happened.
At the red traffic light, Mike got out of my car, left the motor running and casually strolled over to the Navara parked slightly ahead of us. He made good ground for a chubby fellow, and by the time the Navarra's driver realized what was going on, his door was pulled opened, and Mike relieved him of his car keys. I cannot describe everything said there. From the colourful language and accusations however, it was clear that this fellow owes Mike money. The traffic light turned green and red no less than three times before Mike thought he expressed his unhappiness in full. He returned to my car with the built up traffic applauding his efforts with high pitch erratic horns blowing.
As Mike got into the Citroen, already apologizing for the chaos he created, the Navara driver came over and very politely asked for his keys. These were given to him, and he made sure to disappear, not waiting for the light to turn green before thundering off. Mike then went on to explain that that guy with the expensive car owes him money, and he hates to see people live rich and not pay their dues. "No matter what he does, I'll pay this guy", I said to myself. This went on until we got back to the shop.
Mike offered to drop me off at home, and then return to work on the car. "It will be about two hours", he said. "How much?", I asked. No response came for quite a while, then he said, "Not much, nothing big wrong. Give me your number and I call you when I know." He pointed to the young lady sat in one of the wrecks to the left of the garage. I went to her, and she took down my number. She did not say much, a real shy and tiny woman.
On the way home I thought, "I do not want his guy to know exactly where I live". I directed him to a neighbours' house. Then I allowed him to disappear from sight before I ran across the road to my house. Upon entry my wife was quite surprised to see me with no car and said, "Is the car stolen?". "No time for a joke like that", I responded and explained what a lovely fellow Mike turned out to be, and he would be attending to her car's every need.
Three agonizing hours later I did not receive any word of Mike. I rang him three times in the following half hour, but received only his voice mail. "This is not right, what if he is chop shop man, or on the way to he border?", my wife lectured me. This was all the motivation I needed to jump into action, if only to escape from her suggestions. I drove to the workshop.
From a distance I recognized the silhouette of the Citroen, an elongated oversized white drop like shape. The bonnet was still open, but all was connected with hinges. The lack of parts stripped off became clearer when I stopped for a closer inspection. Relieved about my discovery, I made my way over to the lady in the one wreck who took my number earlier. "Where is Mike?", I asked. "I don't know, he left a long time ago. I paced over to the man working on the engine cover whilst asking, "Why did you not call me as agreed with a quote?". "I tried to call Mike, but cannot find him", came her response. I stood there for a while and realized they know the level of my mistrust now, then turned to leave. My parting message, "Let me know how much I need to pay for the service, and when the car is ready".
Another hour passed and I found myself on the way to the workshop again. This time however invited as the car was ready, and accompanied by my wife. Upon arrival, Mike greeted us with a wide smile and explained that the missing oil cap was found on a cover at the bottom of the engine, "It must have fallen in there somehow." That was the least of my worries, the car was not hacked to pieces, or stripped to parts, and that was a relief to me, but I said nothing to that effect. "You never gave me a quote", I told him. With a huge frown he shouted at the girl "Shany, sort out the customer", and disappeared. The girl kindly asked for R892. "What a bargain" I thought, as a less successful service cost me more than R3000 two years prior. I paid, we greeted and set off to home.
We had a coffee whist discussing the bargain we just received. Then the phone rang and a familiar number appeared, it was Sam. She was in a panic, asking "Did you get your car back already?". "Yes, but why?". "Mike came in this morning and ordered lots of parts without paying, including your spares for the service. He just came back, and refuses to pay for them now. He left without paying." She protested. "And what does this have to do with me?", I enquired. "Well, it is your parts, did you pay him, and how much?", she asked. "I really do not understand why you call me, your deal is with Mike, isn't it?", I finished off. "Ok", she accepted and greeted reluctantly.
I had so many things to be confused of at that stage. Mike upset about someone not paying his dues; I got a very cost effective service done or did I; Sam pulling me into the purchase of spares; and the neighbours' address linked to me. The last one I was quite happy about. What a roller coaster ride, and that for a simple service. It least I found my reliable mechanic, well reliable to me at least. Sam obviously had a different view on it, and I suppose the Navara's driver would also have his opinion on the matter. Trust was also not easily given on my part, considering the number of times I thought this will take on a strange outcome soon, whilst this episode unfolded.
Mike called a few days later, enquiring if I was happy with the service. He also located a replacement oil dipstick, as he noticed mine was a bit worse for wear. All this cemented my trust in this highly recommendable character to weary Citroen owners.
Monday 10 June, 2013
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