Honk if you hear me

One thing I wish I knew more about is car maintenance. Thanks to "Dateline NBC" and their tiny cameras, I don't feel like there's a mechanic in the world that I can trust. Anyone who disagrees with that statement has either never owned a car or is hopelessly deluded by the romance of the Lincoln Tech commercials that air between the Showcase Showdowns on "The Price is Right."\nOne has to only deal with the Parts Department of any dealership or mechanic to know there's trouble ahead. Tell me if this sounds familiar: "We don't have that part here. We're gonna have to order that." It's phrases like this that make me wonder why there is such a thing as a "Parts Department." They sure don't have any "parts" back there. So what's taking up all the space? Order forms? In all my post-mishap visits, I've never been fortunate enough to hear, "Sure, we've got plenty of those parts in the garage. We'll just slap it on and send you on your way." This is what my usual visit to a maintenance department sounds like:\nMe: Hi, I called earlier about the oil change, and could you check the pressure in my tires, too?\nMechanic (skeptically): Yeah, I can tell just from lookin' you're going to need some air in your front left tire. But we don't have any air here. In fact, I'm not sure if they still make the kind air your tires need anymore. We're going to have to order it from Siberia. Could be a couple days. And it looks like there's some dirt on your windshield. We better replace that, too. Gonna have to order it.\nMe: Okay, well, do you have a loaner car you can give me in the meantime?\nMechanic (still skeptical): No, I don't think so. We've got a Razor Scooter here with the back wheel missing.\nMe: That'll be fine. How much is this going to cost?\nMechanic: Well, the parts are pretty much free. But with labor, the total comes to $3,654.48.\nWhere's Stone Phillips in my hour of need? He's undoubtedly adding products to his hair at any given moment, so it's up to me to look after myself. This is why I try to make a habit of looking under my hood at least once every six months. I don't really know anything about what's going on under my hood, but I feel like if I open it every so often and just stare at it, that's enough to keep it running smoothly until the next time. Sure, I know where the dipstick is and that somewhere in there is a sparkplug and something that needs viscosity or Windex or whatever. I also try to wash my rims every now and then because my brakes are gradually disintegrating and leaving behind residue on my "blades." They're twelves, ladies. Fo' shizzle. In any case, I like to think that people who drive by my house and see me looking under the hood will think more of me for practicing one of the manly arts.\nIf opening my hood for no real reason other than to impress others or the fact that I think it's okay to put my name on something containing the words "fo' shizzle" seems sad, that's because it is. But if pickup truck commercials have taught me anything, I'm not really a man until I have the biggest payload in my class and a hemi, which I think means "goes fast." So in the meantime, I'll pop my hood and make sure that everything is screwed on tight and save everything else for a Stone Phillips' exposé.