Womanly mechanic woes

Marcella Scarlett, Gleaner Writer

Very few people enjoy taking their car to the mechanic and, for women, it can be particularly daunting. When my car was due for servicing, I dreaded the process because I did not know which mechanic to go to.

I usually take my car to the dealer, but I became curious about what was being done. However, I was allowed in the restricted area.

A friend connected me with his mechanic. Yes, I felt safe because the testimonials were impeccable, my friend highlighting his over-five years of loyalty to this mechanic.

I arrived at the mechanic on a Saturday, sometime after midday. The supposed professional did the relevant inspection and advised us of the required parts, even telling us where to get them. We did so.

Just like going to the hairdresser, if you put a girl who washes hair to flat iron, you might leave bald - the same thing applies to a garage. I explicitly told my friend I did not want any 'apprentice' to work on my car. I was assured that servicing is routine and I had nothing to worry about.

So the apprentice got to work, changing the air filter, oil filter, engine oil, transmission oil, spark plugs, skimming the disc rotors and adjusting the disc pads.

After several hours, the work was finished, my car washed and I paid my bill.

Driving off, I knew instantly that my car felt weird, although I could not identify the precise problem. I immediately informed my friend that something was wrong and, since I did not have the mechanic's number at my fingertips, called the next day, Sunday. I was advised to take the car back on Monday.

I took the mechanic for a test drive and he heard the sound I was complaining about. After checking for several hours, he said it was caused by the gas I was using, so all I needed to do was get different fuel.

It just didn't add up. I bought gas five days before the servicing, from the same service station I have been using since purchasing the car, and I had bought the same grade fuel. The mechanic said maybe it was a bad batch and did not affect the car immediately.

It is hard to imagine him giving a man that explanation. To add insult to injury, he told me that I must not worrying because the noise would stop as soon as I changed the gas. In very diplomatic terms, I was anything but satisfied. Luckily, I have a good relationship with the dealer from whom I purchased the car and I returned like a prodigal daughter. Within 10 minutes of hearing my complaint, he was able to diagnose my problem more sensibly.

WRONG OIL

"What kinda (transmission) oil did you put in the car, Marcella?" he asked "The one Chevron make in the blue bottle," I said.

"You sure that is the right oil? I think these cars come with CVT transmission. Did the oil say CVT?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was a reddish-colour oil in a blue bottle," I said.

He pulled out the dipstick and, sure enough, written on it was 'CVT'. "You use the wrong oil. You have to change the oil from the transmission immediately and put in the right oil. It will mash up your transmission and CVT transmission not cheap," he said.

I immediately called my friend, who was still at the mechanic. He related the issue to the mechanic, who I heard say, "My youth, a true! Is a lucky girl that enuh. Tell her she need fi change back the transmission oil fast because it can mash it up."

The next day, I went about correcting the problem. It was hectic sourcing the oil, and it cost $3,874 per quart. I needed five quarts. I returned to the mechanic and the blame game began. He said the transmission oil should not have been changed and he didn't know that it had been.

I got back my car later in the afternoon. I had complained it was not driving smoothly and when I collected it, the jolting was still there. The response was: "That a simple thing ... a nuh nothing major ... . It soon stop".

I was upset, to put it mildly. Since it was so late, I went home, planning to take the car to the dealer the next day. In the morning the engine check light came on. Several mechanics I had become familiar with over my traumatic two days recommended a diagnostic test. Additionally, the dealer advised I get a sample of the spark plugs that came out of the car.

RIPPED OFF?

However, the 'mechanic' said he could clear the light, as it was on because of the transmission issue. I said a resounding no, reminding him that the car was jolting and needed correcting. I did not want him around my car again. I asked him for the old spark plugs and he said the garbage truck collected on Mondays, so they were already gone.

A mechanic visited me at work with a scanner. He confirmed there was a problem with the spark plugs - they were holding too much heat, causing hot air to be thrown back on the engine coil, which would burn out if the problem was not addressed. En route to the spark plugs, we bumped into a dirty air filter - black all over.

I immediately called the offending mechanic, who initially was not sure about the filter but suddenly 'remembered' that the one I bought had not fit properly, so he had simply blown out the old one and replaced it.

"Mi did plan fi tell you, but me figet," he said.

I had bought platinum-tip spark plugs, each costing approximately $3,000, and the car uses four. Everyone else seemed to know that these plugs are good for up to 100,000 km and the mileage on my car was less than 46,000 km. After telling him he had royally messed up my car, the mechanic replied, "You should get platinum-tip spark plug. A dem kinda plug the newer car dem use. All you need fi do a change the plug dem and you good." He seemed to know everything after the fact, except where the spark plugs I had bought were.

I have a hunch. Used parts are a hot commodity on the streets and many people go directly to garages to see what they can find.

I did what I should have in the first place. I took the car to the dealer. A complete assessment was done to see if there are any other issues. None. Zero. All I had to do was change the spark plugs and replace the air filter.

What should have been a regular servicing turned out to be a whole learning experience for me.