Yep. That is the topic of today’s post. Mostly it is about how much I miss racing. I miss watching my husband speed down the track in his ’03 Lightning. I miss the adrenaline rush of the Christmas tree turning green. I even miss the smell of burning rubber.
EDIT: **Well, it started that way, and then it turned into my visit to the dealership. Hang in there, it’s entertaining, I swear.**
How I took this stroll down memory lane:
I went to the car dealership today for a simple service call. I was hit on, or made to feel special, by the first guy that met me. Sure he was older and had on a wedding ring, but that didn’t stop him from making me smile at a compliment (of which I have learned to say “thank you” for). I explained what I needed and he said he would get someone right out. I got a glimpse of his name tag and it said “courtesy driver” and his name. Of course he was hitting on me! He wanted a big tip after he shuttled me somewhere while my car was getting serviced. It might have worked if I was employed.
I waited a little while before a service tech could take care of me. No big deal, I sat there in my car, smiling. It was cooler today than it had been in several days, or maybe the humidity was down. All I knew, is that it wasn’t so oppressive. I was greeted by the service tech with a limp fish handshake. (WHY is it that men do that to women???) I discussed what I needed, he said he would go check. All I need is the front bracket / license plate holder installed on the front of the car. This car didn’t get sent home with it attached for some reason, so I need one (is it the law around here). THREE MEN were at my door in a matter of 5 minutes. It seems the manufacturer didn’t make a plate holder for this vehicle. Odd, but OK. The parts manager came out and everything. Trying to assure me that I was wrong in what I requested (maybe that wasn’t his intent, but that’s what I felt like he did).
I asked them, how do I keep the plate from rubbing off the paint on the car?
“You didn’t get the <dealership name> plate?”
Boys, boys, would I be here if I felt I had what I needed? COME ON!!
“No, if I had gotten it, it would be attached to the car with my plates in it.”
“Oh, do you have your plates with you?” They were suddenly eager to help a helpless woman in her car. I did not bring them with me as I had every intention of mounting the plate into a preinstalled bracket and that would be easy peasy! I can do that!
They handed me some plate covers that should hold the plate from rubbing on the car. I thanked them all very much and then proceeded around the lot to the exit.
While I was at the dealership, I thought I would say hi to the salesman and tell him how much I loved the car. He was a nice guy, not a slime ball, so I have NO PROBLEM wanting to talk to him again. I met him, shook his hand (firm handshake in return), and told him how much I love the car. We started talking about why I was there and we walked to the show room floor. We were talking about the plate and he was stunned as well that there is no bracket, yadda yadda.
An older gentleman in a mechanic gear walked up. “Are you the young lady that needs the plate bracket?” We rehash it a little bit and tells me he is the lead mechanic and he’s sorry, but the manufacturer didn’t make one for the car. He also asked if I had my plates with me — his eyes LIT UP at the prospect of helping me with this problem.
“Sir, I go through cars like people go through water bottles, I can install a license plate.” He chuckled. The salesman says, “Tell him what you have owned.” He knew what the family tree was since we discussed this when purchasing the vehicle.
I proceeded to tell him all about the Lightning and the 350Z, then the Raptor.
“Doug, (yes, I’ll use his name since I am not mentioning where I went, and he was awesome) I have helped install more superchargers than I can remember on my husband’s Ford Lightning. I used to drive a supercharged Nissan 350Z.” *insert whistle of amazement from Doug here* “We both used to drag race, and sometimes, I feel more comfortable with a wrench in my hand than anything else.” He asked a few questions, of which I had immediate answers for. His eyes popped out of his head! I was the most sincere amazement I think I have seen. “Ma’am,” (I went from young lady to ma’am — I think that’s a good thing), “Tell your husband he’s a lucky man.”
I might have blushed (and if you know me that doesn’t happen often) and returned, “Thank you, but I think I am the one that lucked out.”
We talked about his Chevelle and the car club he’s in. We talked about the Ford Ranger he bought brand spanking new and hates. It was like old times sitting around in the garage working on people’s trucks.
“If you need anything, you just come back and ask for me, I’ll help you out. You really made my day.” I felt honored (and now that I am replaying this story in my head, I feel more so, my heart is warmed by his appreciation.
I promise to write a drag racing post (or several). I’ll start writing them now, but they may not post for several days. Hang in with me. This may be the longest red light on the Christmas tree you’ll have to wait for.