Posts Tagged ‘Break Pads’

I have ranted on this topic more then once in this blog, but here I go again anyway.  I hate automotive repair.  First off I have no idea about anything in the field thus making me susceptible to every sinister guy in the business.  Now I know a thing or two and am someone when on my full game is not to be reckoned with.  I can sell ice to a mother fucking Eskimo.  Shit I sold a surfboard once to a guy who lived in Ohio.  Put me in a situation where I have limited knowledge and I find myself a bit on the ignorant side.  Here is a story how a minor brake job became an adventure, cause in Lisanti Land nothing is ever minor.

I do a ton of driving. If you are serious about surfing in Santa Barbara it is a reality that you are putting at least eighty miles a day on your car, unless of course you enjoy surfing crap at Lead Better.  As a result I need to keep my whip in the best working order possible.  When my brakes started squeaking this past Saturday I knew it was time to get it looked at.  My roommate Ryan knew a guy who he claimed to be cheap and good.  I like cheap and good is even better. Throw in a free cup of coffee and box of ring dings and I would marry that guy.

I go over to Bob’s make shift little garage over on Milpas St.  at 11am on Monday.  I asked him how long he though and he said two hours.  No worries. I cruised home, studied for my baking final, took my baking final.  Got home around 4pm and still no word from good old Bob.  I call him up and here is what I got “well uh?  yeah the civic. ummmmm?????, funny story. We ended up getting the wrong size brake pads.  They are about 2mm too big.  Man thought we were going to nail it too”.  Astounded I was about to lose my cool, but I was standing on the bluff above Lead Better watching the sun set, just taking in the beauty of the world around me.

I was calm.  I took a deep breath and remembered that I am not in New Jersey, but in California where the concept of time  and responsibility is well, a bit less understood.  “Bob” I reply “I must say I am a bit disappointed in you and your operation. I needed my car back in the morning and now I do not have one.”  Bob said “yeah that is unfortunate, its a real bummer we got the wrong part”.   I took another long breath, got a grip of my emotions and said “Yep Bob it is really unfortunate and a real bummer.  I guess I will see you tomorrow then.”  “I promise Chris it will be done first thing in the morning”.  “What time do you think that will be around Bob?” I asked.  “10:00am”.

I hung up and threw one of my standard tantrums.  ‘Fuck you Bob you stupid mother fucking moron.  Its a real bummer indeed, for me. Fuck, Stupid ass Californian.  Breaks should take less then two hours, I know worked at a fucking gas station for two years.   C’mon Bob, C’mon man’.  I thought about going there and kicking his ass, but that would just mean I would have to fix my own breaks.  If I had that skill I would not have needed Bob in the first place.  I was frustrated to say the least.

My phone rang again and it was Bob.  Excited that maybe he figured something out I picked up.  “Hey Chris I just thought of something.  I have a buddy who drives a cab and he can hook it up if you need a ride”.  What?  Hook it up? What does that mean exactly.  That was Bob’s ingenious solutions???  I thanked him for the very kind offer and hung up.

My only saving grace was the bag of Nachos I had in my hand that I made at work on Friday.  Some how they still were not soggy.  It was classic. Ryan and I were standing there looking rather homeless eating chips out of a grease stained brown paper bag we kept passing back and forth.  Anyone walking by just figured we were two bums sharing a 40oz.  Yep nothing but big things for me in life folks.  Then I thought about hanging myself, but as usual I could not find any rope long enough or strong enough.  Since Bob had my car it was not like I could go to the store and procure some.  Another suicide attempt foiled in the planning stage by pure laziness oh and of course BOB!!!!

Still alive, who should come walking down the gnarl trail from Oceano?  None less then Kooky Kyle all dressed up like a real estate agent or something.  He grabbed the bag of chips for a hand full as well.  As it turns out he needed a ride to some hotel on the water front to apply for a bell boy job.  That kid is a go getter.  Ryan lent Kooky his truck parked in the car port.  Now Kooky not used to driving a large truck, not to mention the fact that my car port is the worst designed thing I have ever seen in my life, ended up catching the side of the truck on the side of the building thus knocking off Ryan’s side view mirror.

Another calamity caused by the incompetence of Bob.  Now Kooky has to get Ryan’s truck fixed.  Santa Barbara is like prison, you go in for a minor sentence and get stuck for twenty years cause you killed a guy in fight to save your own skin.  I had been invited to a pot luck dinner party that night.  Usually I do my own meals at the Lisanti Palace, but I thought a change of scenery might be nice and Lindsay said there would be some girls there.  I am trying to force myself to try and date a little bit.  I feel like it is the only way I am ever going to move on.  I cooked up Fettuccine Florentine.  Fettuccine Rigate, mixed with a creamy Alfredo sauce, sauteed spinach, summer squash, zuchini and portobello mushrooms.  I topped the whole thing off with chopped heirloom tomatoes.   It was quite the dish if I do say so myself.

Then I was faced with the dilemma of how to get there.  I was banking on getting a ride from Ryan.  When I went to get him dude was cutting z’s in his bed.  I was not about to wake the guy and after the Kooky incident not about to take the truck either.  Kooky and I decided to hoof it with the hopes of hitching.  At this point I am walking up Cliff Dr. towards Albertson’s with a roasting pan full of pasta and two oven mits on my hands.  Kooky was behind me with his thumb out and a bottle of Syrah.  Lucky for us we got picked up only about 1/4 of the way up.

They were nice enough to drop right in front of the house we wanted to go to.  I with my weak ass sense of direction had us walk the wrong way up the street, before realizing we were right in front of the place.  The dinner party was a mix of angry east coasters, hipsters and hippies.  Sounds like there could have been a fight.  Good thing everyone was happily liquored up.  I had a great time eventually stumbling home at midnight.  Thanks Bob for all the extra exercise!

Next morning I woke up and headed over to my good friend Bob’s to collect my car.  I got there just before ten only to see my car still on blocks and no work done.  I asked Bob how long he thought and he replied “two hours”.  Two hours from when Bob!?!  I decided to walk down to Winchells this dank doughnut place for some breakfast.  Its funny but comparatively walking down Milpas in conjunction to Sate St it is like a whole different country.  There are all these janky little Mexican shops.  Some tweaker bald black lady yelled some profanity at me.  There were gang bangers, day laborers, homeless and degenerates every where.  The restaurants are a little bit more sketchy. I really thought today might have been the day I was going to get that stabbing I have patiently been hoping for.

I got to Winchells and enjoyed a bagel breakfast sandwich, doughnut and cup of tea while reading some of the more obscure short stories of Hemingway.  You think I am negative pick up some of that guys works.  I finally understand his pain.  He carried the pain of a woman for the rest of his life.  That is what real love is maybe, not being able to move on.  I can respect that in a man.  As for myself I think I am finally paying for my misdoings in life.  If that is the case then I really do understand why now.

I cruised back to Bob’s around noon (once again not getting stabbed or even challenged) and my car is still on blocks.  By this point I was over it and just sat down on a pile of old tires and read more.  Finally at 1pm my car was done.  I got Bob to kick down the price by $50 bucks for my inconvenience.  That is how a two hour break job ends up taking 26 hours and all the events that ensued as a result.  For now on I am just going to blame all my problems on Bob!  Bob Ruined MY LIFE.

Here is an alternate form of transportation Bob could have suggested.

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