|I called Mom on the way to let her know what was going on. "Didn't sound like the transmission to me," she said. It's missing, you ever had that thing tuned up?"
"It's not a thing, Mom. It's a Mustang!" I said.
"Whatever, I know what a car sounds like when it's missing. You better hope it's missing and not the transmission. That'll set you back at least 4 grand. Where you gonna get that kind of money? If you still worked at the Post Office, you might've had the money. I know you wanted to pursue your dream of being a writer and wanted something a little more interesting than selling stamps, but, I bet you didn't think that you was gonna need a new transmission. Well, I gotta go to Bingo. Call me if you need me to come get you while they work on your car." Click!
I pulled into the parking lot of the Ford transmission guy's shop and walked into a place that was straight out of a movie. No doubt about it, this place was a garage. The office, if you could call it that, had a torn, black leather couch and two bar stools that leaned slightly to the left. On the walls, was picture after picture of souped up cars and a cabinet filled with trophies and ribbons from various car shows.
As I peered into the service area, I could see various cars in differing stages of being worked on. I saw the usual Mac tool toolboxes, air hoses, and grease rags strewn about the place and a couple of girlie calendars placed in strategic locations, supposedly only visible to the mechanics.
As I was standing there, a man, small in stature, but big in hair (he looked like he was from an 80s hair band) (watch out, Def Leppard) walked up to me and said, "Can I hep ya with somethin'?"
"I hear you're the guy to see about a Ford Mustang transmission," I replied.
"What's the problem?"
I told him what was going on and how I had made my way to see him and finally he said, "Well, what we waitin' for? Let's take her for a spin and see what she'll do." And for the second time that day, my car laid rubber down as she was taken out for another spin...