Doc and the Bimbo Posts

 I used to pay experts to fix my car and truck.  After I retired, I could no longer afford to do this. Besides with UTUBE, experts show you how easy it is to DIY thus saving $120 per hour labor cost, plus shop fees.  Even when I could afford it, they always seemed to charge for parts that Amazon Prime would deliver to my door at half the cost.  So, what if it takes me double the time and a few cuts, bruises, and sore muscles.  Judy loves it when I am working on cars as I am out there and out of her hair for a bit and she tends to reward my efforts with a nice single malt which we can now afford as I have saved us a shit pot of money by fixing my own truck, That was my thinking last week when I decided to replace the glazed- overhead light lenses and rusting out front bumper on my aging F250 Super Duty.

With the aid of UTUBE over the past few years I did the brakes, changed the oil, replaced the fuel filter, service the automatic transmission, and even diagnosed and replaced a faulty ABS break sensor. My confidence sored as I watched how easy it was to replace the head light lenses and the bumper was held on by only 6 easy to get to bolts. Compared to servicing the transmission this was going to be no brainer.

Parts came in on a Friday and by Monday there was a two-day break in the winter Oregon rains and I was in my overalls with all the tools I needed carefully placed in order on a portable worktable.  I had even purchased a nifty air powered socket wrench so I wouldn’t have to strain my aging muscles using a ratchet wrench in those tight places where my impact driver wouldn’t fit.  What could go wrong?

I did the headlights first, thus giving the bumper bolts an extra day to soak up the penetrating oil I had liberally sprayed on the 6 bumper bolts.  Did I already mention that there are only 6, easy to get to bolts holding up the front bumper on my F250?  Those Ford engineers who designed this would get a Nobel prize if they had one for innovation in front bumpers.

Head light job started well.  Managed to pull out the two clips holding the top of each headlight assembly with relative ease only breaking two of them and losing the other two somewhere in the body of my truck.  Oh well, no big deal as there are two well stocked automotive stores only 15 miles away.  The bottom attachment point was more of a problem.  To his credit the UTUBEr had warned me of this and had shown a hack that made the job a snap. After an hour and two scraped knuckles later, I gave up on the hack and tried to do it the hard way.  The only way to get to that attachment point was to first remove the batteries.  My truck has two heavy ones.  To get to the head light attachment on the driver’s side required not only the removal of the battery but the battery tray and the air filter assembly as well.  Eight bolts and a just out of reach hose clamp later, I finally had access to the attachment point with only a slightly strained shoulder muscle as collateral damage.  Once I got to the attachment point, the battle was far from over as no matter how hard I pushed it did not budge.  Finally resorted to grabbing the flap of plastic that was holding it in with a pair of vice grip pliers and wiggling it back and forth for 15 minutes till it boke off.  With the headlight lenses out I was finally on the down hill side.  Now for the reverse of taking out, the putting in, after of course the mandatory trip to the auto parts store. 

This was going to be a snap. After an hour of pushing a shoving I realized that while the head light assembly look identical to the ones I had taken out, they were just slightly off.  Made in China.  Fucking Chinese junk!  No wonder they were cheaper.  First, they kill our dogs with adulterated dog food, then try to kill us with Covid, and now they are messing with my sanity with these fucking pieces of shit head lights.  But after another hour to pushing, punching, and cussing, they both were in.  Got both batteries in and was finally ready for that single malt.  Turned on the head lights just to make sure.  Note to self: self, test the lights before putting the whole battery air cleaner assembly back together.  Sure, would have had put the drivers side battery in an out an addition time but it would have been worth it in the long run.  Light bulb had fell out and was down in the frame of the truck. I could see it but needed another 2 inches of fingers to reach it and they do not make Viagra for fingers.  Another hour and the job was finally done.  Took the truck out that night to test the head lights and then watched UTUBE on how to adjust headlight so that you can actually see the road in front of you. Also the parking lights don’t anymore.  I don’t need lights when I park.

A few days later there was another break in the weather and I was finally going to take those 6 bolts out and replace the bumper.  Five came out, one of which no longer resembled a bolt.  The sixth had to be cut out with a Sawzall.  That was 15 minutes of pure misery as to get the saw blade on the bolt required me to lay on my back on the cold ground with my fat, senior citizen body contorted in a position that was not illustrated in the Kama Sutra as it was deemed as too difficult.

Finally, all 6 bolts were out. Now the bumper should just fall out.  Nope there were two more bolts. I had been lied to.  And the last 2 bolts require that both front wheels had to come off.  Jack the truck up, put the jack stands in while crawling on my belly on the cold ground.  Haul the big ass air compressor out of the shop so that I can use my big air gun on the studs.  With the wheels off I can now see the offending bolts but my impart driver won’t fit in the spot. But then I remembered my nifty little air ratchet wrench.  Boy was I smart to buy that tool!  Nope, that piece of shit has no torque, and I mean none whatsoever.  Add this tool to my growing list of Chinese crap.  Should have bought made in America.  Bought an extension for my impact driver but the bolt was too rusted up of even this to move it.  I was finally able to move the bolt with my hand ratchet wrench with a cheater bar extension on it.  But could only move it a little bit at a time and strained yet another muscle in the process. Went to the local hardware store and bought an extension and 11 mm socket that I could run on my big air gun. That worked till the nut on the back of the bolt stated to turn and no matter what I tried I could not get any of my vast array of tool to get a hold on that fucking nut.  Once again, I am on my back on the cold ground doing the Sawzall Kama Sutra.  And why pray tell why are there metric bolts on my manly Ford F250. Metric parts are for sissy cars.  Named my truck “Captain” as it pulls my travel trailer “Boldly go”. Maybe I should have named him Mr. Sulu instead. It is a pain in the ass to have to have two sets of virtually identical tools to work on a truck.  Unlike my father I cannot look a bolt and tell what size it is.  I must have at least 6 sockets, 3 metrics and 3 standards to have chance of getting one that works, trying each one in tern till I get a tight fit. That might be fun if these were marital toys and the wife and I had just finished a cheese fondu. but laying on my back with oil dripping on my face, not so much.

Bumper finally falls off the truck on my foot and then I see all the brackets, braces, and fog lights that must be removed from the old bumper and put on the new one.  There are three sizes of metric bumper bolds that have to be removed. Some come out with relative ease, others required being Sawzalled off.   There are 6 backets and or braces which must be removed and then reassembled on the new bumper in a pattern and order that makes a 1000-piece jigsaw easier and quicker to be solved.  Did I ever tell you that I have no spacial l skills and I still need yet another trip to the auto parts stores to get new bolts and clips they screw into.  Lucky for me I have an old friend who dropped everything to come over and lend a hand. I have known Bill for 50 years even though he is almost my age we call him sonny. He has aged really well except for the oil porttait of him that he keeps hidden in a locked cabnet in his garage. Next morning, I drive into Newport, nope, no bumper bolds and clips are available on the coast.  As of that moment, I had a bumperless truck with whoppy jawed headlights, a sore neck, twisted knees, a back in need of a chiropractor, and six band aids on the back of my right hand.

The next morning, after several calls to dealerships and junkyard I discover that they don’t make these parts anymore. I am not sure that they imported these parts from China and that in retaliation for Trump’s trade policies China cut off the supply.  You bastards!  Trump never worked on an F250 in his life.  You are hurting me! I am a liberal, I love diversity, you can have Taiwan for all I care as they make cheep shit there as well. 

Had to buy $50 bucks worth of various sized nuts, bolts, and washers, then spend hours attaching them to the brackets, braces, and rubberized valence to make the bumper install ready. Two days later I was ready to attach it to the truck. What is a valence doing on my truck?  Maybe Dougie Houser would be a better name.  

After a sleepless night worrying about it the damn thing would fit back on the truck, I decided to wait another day has I had got my first Covid shot the day before.  I was told it would be the second shot that would put me down for a day, not the first.  Fucking fake news did it to me again.

Much to my surprise the bumper went back on the truck much easier than it came off.  Judy had to help me as it took 3 hands and a knee while laying on my back on the cold cold  ground.  Judy had to even run the impact driver while I did the Kama Sutra once more. Only thing that is still bugging me is that it only took 6 bolts to put it back on.  Somehow the last two bolt holes had disappeared.  Space time anomaly?

I think I need to reevaluate my former position on saying money. Can anybody recommend an honest and inexpensive mechanic?  While I was a nearly complete failure, I still got my single malt.  At least I married well.

I no longer enjoy flying.  I’m not exactly sure when I came to this conclusion.  It might have been the prop engine flight from Duluth to Minneapolis that was piloted by two kids who could not have been over 18 years old and spoke only fluent Canadian.  We had not been in the air for more than 30 seconds when I was searching for the barf bag in the pocket of the seat in front of me.  Might have used it too but someone had been ahead of me in that department.  That plane bounced and juggled and damn near landed on its right-wing tip.  The seats were hard plastic with dual slits in the bottom which I assume that they were there to facilitate the removal of human excrement.  My memory may be a little fuzzy but I swear that the cockpit door was a shower curtain.

My love of flying might also have left me when I realized that stewardesses were no longer the sexy things of my youth.  It is hard to believe now but at one time that job was glamorous and filled with young and sexy women who eventually became trophy wives of sports heroes, rich doctors and the captains of industry.  Today she is just a frazzled middle aged women who pushes the beverage cart and charges three bucks for a snack-size bag of peanuts or five bucks for a Bud Light.  Didn’t they use to provide you with real food?  I know that people use to complain all the time about airline food, but I never did.  I usually traveled on per diem and a free meal meant that was one less I had to buy and more money I could bring home for Judy to buy shoes.  I’ll be damned if I am going to pay for a snack bag on a three-hour flight.  So I get my complimentary half a coke in twice as much ice as needed to make it seem larger than it is, and hope that I won’t spill it on my shirt when the flying waitress who is sneaking up behind me with yet another cart full of overpriced snacks hits my shoulder.  

But I could live with all that shit if the seats were comfortable.  At first, I put it off to growing older but I have lately become convinced that they are cramming you into increasing smaller seats and at a time when there is a growing obesity epidemic in America.  And the quality of passengers who are shoehorned in the seats next to me has gotten worse as well.  I am not sure who was worse, the woman from West Africa who was constantly yelling at her kid in some language that sounded like a cross between a cat in heat and fingernails on a chalk board or the too-much-after-shave guy in the seat in front of me who moved his seat back and into my face with his greasy hair now an inch from my nose while he talks and talks trying to make some chick he just met, who seems to be interested in this sleaze bag.  Oh My God!

Sure flying gets me there quicker than driving an RV, but I hate the trips and by the time I am over jet lag, it’s time to fly the hellish skies back home.  After I retired my flying days were pretty much over.  But before that the only way to visit my son Marty and family was to bite the horse’s ass, as the Navy decided whether he lived in Bahrain, New York or Washington DC and there is now no practical way to visit them in the vacation time allowed other than to fly. 

It might be different if Marty was some boring character or if his wife, Nikki, was some foul-mouthed bitch who treated the grandkids like shit.  I would make excuses not to go.  But when he sends you an EMAIL with the video of the darlings begging us to come for Christmas or just because they miss us, the distress of long flights sitting next to a nasty fat ass with BO seems trivial.

Getting to the airport from Waldport is no easy task.  It is three and half hours to Portland in light traffic.  Given that you are now supposed to arrive two hours before your flight and the quickest flights are at 7AM, you do the math.  When we finally arrive at the airport we get to stand in line for the mandatory carry on and body cavity searches.  When I get to the x-ray machine, they further piss me off by making me take off my shoes and belt.  As I have no ass, I am now stumbling though the metal detector trying to hold up pants with one hand when the fucking alarm goes off. 

“Sir, please move over here and put your arms out straight” says the dull eyed guy in his spiffy new TSA uniform as he pulls out his light saber and begins to wave it over my body.  Lucky for me that it is not a real light saber as he jabs me in the nards.  Can’t really blame him for it, as I had to let go of my pants to put my arms out, which is when they fell down to my ankles, which distracted him from his very important national security related task of strip searching a middle-aged fat guy for weapons of mass destruction. Which by the way would be great name for a rock band.

After that humiliation we wait for another half an hour while they board the plane with little kids, the lame and of course the first-class passengers who paid triple so they can show off their comfy seats to the peasants who are forced to parade by them with heads bowed in supplication.  They think they’re so special.  “Look at me! Look at me! I have more money than you do”.  I on the other hand are tired, pissed off, hung over and even after having gotten up at 3 AM so I can make this friggin’ flight I know that I will not be able to nap as something always prevents it.  I try to catch their eyes as I file past these snobs so that they can see my crazed homicidal look.  But they are too busy with their laptops and their air mall magazines, so I intentionally bump them with my carry on as I go past.

When Judy and I finally get to our seats they are occupied with an orthodox Jewish couple and their kids, one of which is an infant.  When Judy pointed out that they were sitting in our seats we were tersely informed that we are mistaken. They had paid for and the seats were assigned to them.  Judy and grumpy me were then directed by a flying waitress to stand in the back of the plane with our carry-on luggage as everybody else get seated.  I hear some laughter and wonder if my pants have fallen again. 

Did they oversell the plane?  Are we going to get kicked off the flight, missing our connections and losing a day with Marty and Nikki?  How are we going to get word to them that we are going to be stuck in an airport somewhere in the Midwest?  Maybe I should switch to suspenders?  But the problem turns out not to be the airlines at all.  The “religious” couple only paid for four seats and were trying to take five so as not to have to carry the baby on their laps.  I can understand that and eventually it all got settled.  There was an extra seat and by Judy and me by not sitting next to each other, they got to keep their family together.  Judy and I would have been more than happy to shift seats around if we had been asked.  But how stupid was that for an obviously Jewish couple to pull that one?  Basic rule of thumb here: If you don’t want to be stereotyped, then don’t reinforce the stereotype.  At least take the yarmulke and the utility-doily belt off first if you are going to try and pull a fast one.  For when a person publicly professes their religion be it via statement or dress code, a lot of people, especially me, expect better of them than the regular Joe six packs of this world.  When religious people misbehave, be they Jews, Amish, Baptists or chicken-Shiites they are not just demeaning themselves but their god as well.  It is not something I get particularly angry about, it’s just sad.

Eventually we got to Marty’s.  Had a great time with them at Easter that year, even pulled the ol’ Easter bunny stealing their eggs bit.  Helped Marty fix a few things around his house which is a wonderful old gal in Hagerstown, MA, well worth the hour and a half commute to his duty station.  We had planned to go into DC to spend a day at the Smithsonian, but it kept being put off as either someone was not feeling well or other things like helping Marty make beer (always a worthwhile endeavor) kept getting in the way.  But that’s the way it should be with traveling. 

The best plan is not to plan. That is one of the joys of owning an RV after being retired.  You don’t have to leave on a certain day, and you can take as long as you want to get there and taking as many down days as you like along the way. Such was going to be the case with the long trip across the country we have been thinking about taking for the past three years.  Why not head south in Feb. and come back north in Oct.  after making the grand loop to the east coast and back. That was our non-plan plan for 2020.  Fucking Covid 19.  Maybe we can go in 2022 if we are still on this side of the sod.