A year ago my electric window on the passage side of the window broke. The motor or some piece with a name that was made up by some car mechanic to frighten women car owners broke. The window itself was just fine, but it wouldn't go up or go down. I wasn't too concerned about it since fast food drive thru windows back then were on the driver's side. But my husband thought that a broken window meant the whole car would suddenly just fall apart as he drove it down the road, and so he called around to get it fixed IMMEDIATELY. Turns out these window repairs are like over $250. I said, "WHAT?" because there are more things I want for $250 (like a Steelers mailbox in the shape of a helmet) then a working passenger side window. He made an appointment for someone to drive out to the house to repair the window because apparently these guys come to you in window repair instead of you coming to them, which hello might be one of the reason for the expense. The night before he came happened to be Halloween and one of our friends who shares the holiday with us owns an imported car repair shop. I had a discussion with him regarding the window thing, and he offered to do the job for $150 if I brought it by his shop, despite my car not being an import. So I did.
The window was fixed, although it now made a whooshing noise every time we got on the highway and traveled faster than 60 miles an hour. I could ignore that part as I'm an old lady driver and never go faster than 45 miles an hour in town. About ten months later the window began making some groaning noises as it went up and down. Eventually it began making crackling noises so I told everyone that rode in that seat not to touch the window. I did not put a piece of duct tape over the window control, which was my bad. One day, about a month ago, I accidentally hit the window control for that window, one of which is on the driver's side of the car. The window would not go back up after that so Madison got out of the car and pushed the window up and all was good.
The girls and I adjusted to life without a passenger working window. When the fast food drive thru windows were built so that traffic could move in either lane, we just drove a bit past the window and opened the van door to receive our greasy bag of food. We never had any issues, but in my pee brain I kept thinking that I should duct tape the control panels, but as usual I didn't do so even though I spent one whole day cleaning the inside and outside of the van and could have easily done so. I thought about calling my friend, but the fact that his repair job only lasted ten months didn't give me too much confidence. Then came the day I asked my husband to take the van in for an oil change.
I don't like to do this chore because one, they make you drive into the garage over that wide, open hole in the floor where the men reside to change your oil, and because two, those greasy hand mechanics always pull out something in your car and tell you the whole thing will blow up without a replacement and it costs $75. I think it isn't too much for Tom to do this chore for his beloved wife because after all, my father always did it for me. He agreed to do it and took off in my van at halftime of Darcy's soccer game. When he returned with the van he told me I had a broken window.
Me: "What? Why would you roll down that window?"
Tom: "Because as I was driving along someone put the broken visor back on the passenger window and it fell down."
Me: "So? So what did that have to do with the window?"
Tom: "Because it scared me, and I went to fix it."
Me: (knowing husband well) "So you forgot what the hell you were doing and hit the control to the window?"
Tom: "Yeah. Why didn't you have that window fixed?"
The worst part of the whole thing was that he had broken it so the window wouldn't close all the way and a small slit, about two inches, was open around all sides of the window. So husband, thinking the van would fall apart with a broken window, called around to have it repaired only now, a year later, places wanted $400 to repair it. Seriously? This is obviously a business our KelCar Repairs needs to check into because this is some serious cash. Eventually hubby found a man up north that was willing to do it for "like $90". Huh?
Me: "$90? He said he would charge us that? Why? Why such a big difference?"
Tom: "Well, you have to go to him up north. I told him he could come to your mother's house since you are always there. He agreed to that. If he has to come down here to our house he charges like $5 more."
Me: "This all sounds whanky to me, but if you want me to do that I'm game."
We made an appointment to have the window repaired on Friday at my mother's condo. On Monday, a day of many errands and trips around the county, we had a horrendous rain storm. Rain pelted the are,a coming down in sheets with the wind blowing the rain around in all directions, most of it coming through the small gap where my window didn't close. Every lot I entered was open air parking so the car began to get wet and smelly, but I picked up a towel along the way and covered the door and dash to protect it somewhat. The next day was sunny and the car dried out quite nicely, although the window whooshed every time I drove over 40 mph.
On Wednesday the car repair man called to tell me he was sick, but he felt better and he would still try to do my window on Friday. I felt sympathetic and told him it was no big deal if he couldn't get to it til next week. He insisted he would be fine and we agreed to a time.
On Thursday I had to pick up my brother at the airport. As I cruised along, I made a mental note to tell him not to touch the controls, and again I chastised myself for not putting duct tape over the controls. I pulled up to the curb and waited and waited and waited. He finally strode up, opened the van door and dumped in his bags. Then he opened the passenger door, climbed in, shut the door, and I pulled away from the curb. No sooner did I pull away from the curb and he was pushing the control to roll down the window, which rolled down about five inches. The window creaked in protest. I screamed. My brother jumped and immediately tried to get the window back up. The window began its crackling noises and then, as my brother and I watched in horror, the window slowly began lower itself a half an inch at a time until it had completely disappeared into the door.
Rusty: "Oops. Good thing it isn't raining."
I sighed and told myself it was no big deal as the repair was happening the next day. I proceeded to drive him to his destination, the 57 degree wind blowing what little hair he has left on his head.
Rusty: "I'm hungry. Want to pull into one of those fast food drive thrus where the window is on the passenger side?"
It wasn't until we got to my mother's condo that I realized wherever I went the rest of the day I would be leaving my car wide open to thieves in a parking lot. I still had two pick-ups and drop offs to do and two soccer games to attend before I could park the car in my garage for the night. I looked around my car at all the junk that would take at least an hour to remove. Then I yelled at my brother for being an idiot.
Rusty: "Well, really, get a car that works, would you?"
Lucky for me, I had my friend take me to one soccer game and my neighbor take me to the other. I was unable to go anywhere the next day because of the window and so the list of "to dos" that I had written out to do while my brother relieved me of mother duty didn't get done. The window guy called me on Friday, told me he was all set despite his chest cold, and we met in the parking lot of my mother's condo. He got out of his 1970's beat up car that he calls his "mobile service" and I wanted to hug him, but didn't want to scare him off so we shook hands.
Me: "As you can see, I'm glad you are feeling better because my brother broke the window and it now won't go back up."
Him: "Touched the controls, huh?"
Me: "Yep. I should have ducted them, but seriously he wasn't in the car more than 30 seconds before he rolled the window down to spit out his gum."
Him: "Are you sure this car is an 89? It looks like a 90."
Me: "Huh? An 89 or 90? This car is a 1997 van."
Him: "Really? Your husband told me it was an 89. I ordered a part for an 89." He strode around to the driver's side, opened the door, and read the date on the side. "Yep, 1997. Well, that part I bought isn't going to work in a 97."
Me: "Y-O-U H-A-V-E G-O-T T-O B-E K-I-D-D-I-N-G M-E!"
Him: "Sorry. And it is too late to get a part today. Plus, a 97 part will cost a lot more than an 89"
Really? And in my mind a check for $90 went flying out the open car window and in flew one for $400. The nice man tried to get a part for that day, but it was a no go. He told me the soonest he could get to me next week was Tuesday, but that he could do so at my own house as he had another service call in that area that day. Since I now can't go anywhere where I can park and leave my car safely I told him Tuesday was fine with me, and I watched him drive away. I called the hubby.
Me: "Uh, I'm here to have my car window fixed, but you gave him the wrong year for the van."
Tom: "I told him an 89."
Me: "Yeah, well, I was pregnant with Darcy when we got this van and she was born in 1999 and the van still had a two year warranty on it. Where the hell did you get 1989?"
Tom: "Ah, man, I was doing two different things when he called. I guess I wasn't thinking."
Me: "Obviously!"
Then I went upstairs to my mother's condo and smacked my brother around. Then I drove home with the breeze rolling through the window, my purse on my side of the floor so that no one could reach in and snatch it at a red light. At my daughter's school I waited for her to come out of study hall and entertained myself by killing all of the mosquitoes that flew in through the open window.
Guess my Christmas shopping for next week will be done online.
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