Good to know I have a purpose.

[kaigou]

Today I was reminded that I exist for some reason other than merely to serve as a bad example. That is to say, today was my sister's semi-monthly phone call about what's wrong with her car this time. Note that she caught me after three hours of working on test plans, and I hate test plans with a passion I usually reserve for mowing lawns and doing laundry. Hate, hate, hate. At it's easier to be patiently repetive when your brain's on flatline from task-hatred overload.

Khlo: So I went to the storage place this morning [insert packrat rationalizations here], and when I went back to the car, it wouldn't start. It'd just go rrrRRRUUUNHrrrrrUUUNNhhh.
Me: It's the starter. Your starter's dying.
Khlo: But I was only there for like seven minutes.
Me: I know it took you more than seven minutes. You said you talked to Mom, loaded four boxes out of the car and into the storage area, locked up behind you, figured out the car wasn't starting, walked up to the office, asked for help, went back to the car, jumped it. I'd think maybe 45 minutes. Which meant your engine had cooled down some.
Khlo: It's ninety-five degrees outside. It can't be cool. It won't be cool again until October.
Me: The engine normally runs a lot hotter than ninety-five.
Khlo: Maybe.
Me: Anyway. Point is, it's your starter.
Khlo: But it jump-started just fine.

Me: Because the engine had a chance to cool. All the symptoms you describe, it's clearly your starter.
Khlo: The guy thought it might be the battery.
Me: Your lights work? The radio came on?
Khlo: Yeah.
Me: It's not the battery.
Khlo: Come to think of it, know how when you jumpstart a car, they always say you should let it run, juice things up?
Me: No need to do that. Your battery's fine. It's your starter that's dying.
Khlo: So he hooks up my car to his, and I didn't wait, I tried right then, and it started immediately!
Me: That's because it's not the battery. It's the starter.
Khlo: *thoughtful* Actually, the guy did say it might be the starter.
Me: ...

*sigh*

Khlo: So should I bother going to the vet appt?
Me: What do you mean?
Khlo: Wait, does this mean I could be running the AC right now?
Me: Of course. Starter just starts the car. Once the engine turns over, the starter disengages.
Khlo: Oh. Awesome! So can I go to the vet after all? Wilson has an appt this afternoon...
Me: Sure. Can you leave your car running while you pick up the cat?
Khlo: Do what?
Me: Or do you have about two hours between getting home and leaving again?
Khlo: For what?
Me: To let the engine cool down.
Khlo: Why would I do that?
Me: You can't jumpstart it until the engine's cooled down.
Khlo: Why?
Me: *draws complete blank* Uh.
Khlo: ...
Me: Doesn't matter. Just believe me on this one. The engine must be cool. You might be able to start the car on its own, or you might need a jumpstart anyway, but neither will work if the engine's at running temperature.
Khlo: So no vet appointment?
Me: Doesn't sound likely. Reschedule.
Khlo: How much do starters cost?
Me: Maybe $100, $120 with labor? Depends on the car, and the cost of the parts. Starters are pretty easy-access, and hooking them up is about 15 minutes of work.
Khlo: So I shouldn't go to that fancy-pants expensive place Dad likes in Bethesda?
Me: *has no clue* Why would you go all the way to Bethesda to fix a starter? Go to Midas.
Khlo: I just passed a Midas.
Me: Turn around and head back, then.
Khlo: You can go to Midas? Have you ever been to a Midas?
Me: Where do you think I get my mufflers?
Khlo: That's a muffler.
Me: Yes, they do starters. They replaced the starter on my Veedub in '01. They're mechanics. They can do that stuff.
Khlo: But it might be the battery.
Me: IT'S THE STARTER.
Khlo: Hunh. That's just what that guy said...
Me: *headdesk*

And you people wonder why I talk all the time. I grew up in a family where NO ONE LISTENS TO ME.

Comments

[difrancis.livejournal.com]

Well I'm giggling. Your pain is fodder for my enjoyment. But I shall have a close encounter of the lunatic kind in a few weeks with my sister. To give you an example of how that usually goes, let me give a too-long story.

Gotta go back a ways to begin. It starts with my mom and dad getting married. They got married in December because my Grandmother decided my mom was pregnant and couldn't wait until the planned date of June. Five years later . . . bun in the oven. They'd been seeing each other about 6 months at that time.

Fast forward.

So my parents had been married about 40 years when they got this phone call. It was Christmas time and very close to their 42nd anniversary. Ahem. Phone rings. My mom answers. Woman on phone says "hi, this is your daughter in law." Mom only has one of those, so she says, "oh, hi jennifer."

"I'm not Jennifer."

????

So it turns out that this woman was married to a guy whose mother had told him very recently that my dad was his father. Seems she'd been dating my father before my mother, and he'd been born about the time my folks got married. You can imagine the interest this generated in my family.

But my sister's reaction (my loon sister) was . . .

Ready?

Sure?

On finding out she might have a half-brother out in the world, she says . . .

"You guys only knew each other six months before you got married?!?!?!"

*head slap*

Yeah, six months and 42 years later . . .

Di

[kaigou.livejournal.com]

Haha, yeah, there's that whole math thing when you finally figure out the dates. I did that to my mom, when I was eleven. We were at my cousin's wedding (of all places), and Mom was signing the register. For some reason, I said something to my Mom (in front of the kindly Baptist preacher, ahem) about the year my folks were married.

She corrected me on the year. For some reason I'd always had it in my head that they were married the year prior. No, they were married January in the year I was born.

I count on my fingers and blurt out, "wait, was I a month premature?"

Mom looked completely bewildered, and asked, "premature?"

I said, "I must have been a month premature, or how else can explain that you were married in January and I was born in--"

Mom says, "THAT'S ENOUGH."

My sister's eyes get really round -- the usual younger sibling look of 'oh, you are so busted even if I have no clue what you're talking about, you're obviously busted' while the preacher's face gets this bizarre shade of red. I seem to recall protesting because, y'know, the math didn't add up -- and then my mom SMILED.

That really scary Southern Woman smile that means if you don't paste a smile on your own face RIGHT THIS MINUTE then you won't live to see tomorrow.

(That's what she'd always say to us: "do you want to live to see tomorrow?")

So I shut up. But I stewed over that for the longest time, until a friend pointed out the obvious. Mom wasn't lying to me about me not being premature, but in fact, gasp oh the horrors, my parents HAD SEX before they were MARRIED.

And here I'd thought it was enough trauma knowing they'd ever had sex in the first place...

[moffit.livejournal.com]

Man, I'm glad no one in my family is that dense. Er. No offense. >.>

[moffit.livejournal.com]

Wait, I take that back. Sometimes my aunt is. And my mom's the most gullible person I've ever met.

[kaigou.livejournal.com]

The crazy part about it is that my sister's really quite brilliant, but like most folks with brains that elevated, she has the common sense of the average small household appliance. I've never really gotten how it is that she did so well on higher math (did calculus her junior yr in HS, at that) -- and where I had a 200+ point difference weighted towards verbal on SAT/ACT/etc, she had the same but weighted towards math -- and then even went on to get a degree in Industrial Design, which is very much an engineering kind of artistic degree.

And yet she calls me about whether, if her oil cap is missing, if she can drive the car the five miles to the nearest Trash Auto.

We won't even go into what she did to my zippy little Porsche Targa (hardtop convertible) when I turned it over to her so she'd have something to drive. (I'd just gotten married and didn't see reason to deal with upkeep once I could drive my spouse's car.) I kept that puppy running beautifully for three years, and she killed it within a year! Dead! Totally dead!

The woman can paint, design beadwork, come up with the most amazing things, and yet... well, example: the radio was stolen from her MY car one day. I say, shit, did they break the window?

She said, "no, why would they do that?"

Me: How else did they get into the car? You did lock the doors, of course... RIGHT?
Khlo: *indignant* Of course I did!
Me: Then what did they do, pick the locks?
Khlo: *doubtful* I don't think so.
Me: Then how --- *stops, thinks* -- Wait a minute. WAS THE TOP ON THE CAR?
Khlo: *surprised* No. What about it?
Me: *headdeskheaddeskheaddesk*

Yes. Only my sister would leave the top off the car -- with the WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN! -- but lock the doors. Because, y'know, door locks are all that's required to keep out the radio thieves.

*sobs*

Sometimes I wonder if the mechanical gene just skipped her completely. If she ever has kids, I despair...

[thesmorphoros.livejournal.com]

You have just described my son to a T. Brilliant, but absolutely no common sense. But wait....he's an arrogant bastard on top of it. I love him, I really really do.

[moffit.livejournal.com]

*dead* Oh, that would kill me. I'd never let them hear the end of it. The worst my sister did was to fall for some of the pranks I pulled on her: getting her to scratch & sniff the tv, and believing after her toenail fell off after she smashed it on a door frame that her toe would curl up and she'd need special shoes (elf shoes). I'd like to think I had a hand in making my sister a bit less gullible than my mom.

[sans-pertinence.livejournal.com]

My mind is officially blown. That conversation reminds me very much of my mother discussing basic car maintenance with her youngest sister. God. If it wasn't so painful it might be funny.

[kaigou.livejournal.com]

See response to Moffit. *snerk*

Yeah, my sister's just a poster child for diffused attention, that lovely popular euphemism for BLOODY WELL NOT PAYING ATTENTION.

*cough* Not that I ever show such symptoms myself, of course. *preens*

Sometimes I wonder if maybe she just used up all her mechanical points figuring out how to use (and repair) a foot-operated lathe. I just don't get it. Every indication growing up was that she'd end up the one so skilled at carpentry, mechanics, all things math and engineering, and yet... oi. It's boggling.

It wouldn't be half so annoying if it weren't for the fact that she -- as well as my Mom, come to think of it -- calls on a semi-regular basis to ask me questions about cars, and then bloody well won't even register the answer until I've repeated it eighteen times.

Eh, well. I do say my life is a sitcom. I suppose this is just more proof.

*sigh*

[meritjubet.livejournal.com]

My sister is still under the belief that she is always right. It's rather annoying as she has a very limited perspective on well, a lot of things.

I used to repeat myself when I thought I wasn't being listened to. Mainly with peers, as they weren't particularly fond of me in primary school. High school was actually preferable for me.

Sometimes every likes a soapbox... ;)

[flamesword.livejournal.com]

I laugh. oh, how I laugh. MY MOTHER IS EXACTLY LIKE THAT OMG. drives me INSANE.

[kraehe.livejournal.com]

Bad example? You? Which one was (is?) still living in her mother's basement in her 30s?

I think you're like my youngest sis -- fairly responsible, but only regarding the stuff you feel is important, not the stuff everyone else THINKS you should be doing.

S says she's the "grey sheep" of the family: she never really did anything bad, per se, but Mom seems to have tagged her with the "bad kid" label regardless.

Neither of my sisters is quite that clueless. Mom, on the other hand, is exactly like that -- you have to repeat yourself several times before she hears you, and even then you're running a very big risk of her hearing only what she wants to hear, so you find several months later that she's regurgitating a version of events or facts that bears no resemblance to what you told her.