Maintenance.
Nov. 16th, 2004 09:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Dave and I have a funny relationship on many levels.
Sometimes he is The Manly Man, and sometimes I am the Manly Woman. I grew up in a household with somewhat-but-not-very traditional gender roles: Mom cooked because she was good at it and enjoyed it, Dad fixed cars because he'd been working on cars since he was a little boy.
But I had no brothers, only sisters. So, as a child, among my peers, I had no real gender awareness. There was no "the boys, the girls", there were only the girls, which by default was "the kids". And I always admired my dad more-- I know, unfair, but Mom was around more and Dad was working two jobs, so I saw him less and when I did see him he was far more often doing something interesting. Also, his manner with children was always to treat us as though we were perfectly capable of understanding everything that went on-- really, he felt, the only thing separating children from adults was inexperience, and that always worked fine for me.
So, me and my sisters grew up thinking it was fun to work on cars, and Dad insisted when he taught us to drive (I learned at 13, because Katy was 15 and he was teaching her so she could get her permit on her birthday) that we also had to know how the thing worked. So we rotated tires and checked fluids and changed oil and engine coolant and the like, and he even showed us how to regap spark-plugs, not that anybody does that anymore.
Dave is one of two children and his only sibling is an older sister. His dad was a fairly manly man-- he worked in construction and did a lot of his cars' maintenance himself, and the like. So, theoretically, his environment was more gendered than mine, by a narrow margin (and his mom and sister do the The Girls thing sometimes, which is something that my family never even thought of until we'd all left home). But Dave has never been particularly Manly, and was never interested in cars, and didn't even get his drivers' license until he was 21.
So when I met him, he didn't know how to check his oil. And today is the first time in his life he's changed a tire. His account of doing so was really funny. (He read the owner's manual and called Roadside Assistance just to ask them where the jack handle was.) He called me up at the time of the Flat Tire Incident to tell me what had happened, and to ask me how to get the tire off once the lug nuts were removed.
"Um," I said, "pull."
"It's stuck," he said.
"Kick it around the edges to loosen it," I said. "It's probably a bit rusty or gunky."
"Ok," he said, and hung up.
When he got home he said, "I figured out why I couldn't get the tire off."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I just had to put more ass into it."
Dave "putting some ass into" something is a funny concept, given his almost complete lack of anything in the back. But he re-enacted for me the Putting Of Ass Into Tire Removal. He squatted down, looking insectlike with his sharp knees sticking up past his shoulders (you think I'm kidding, but I'm not), and pretended to reach forward and grip the tire.
"I just kinda leaned back," he said, "and hung of the wheel for a while. Just as someone came out of the gas station it gave way--" and he flopped over onto his ass and rolled onto his back, bent legs sticking up in the air --" and I fell over, and the guy coming out looked at me and said, 'You OK?' 'Yeah,' I said, and lay there a minute," pantomining the tire on his chest and his feet in the air.
You probably had to be there but I was laughing my own less-insubstantial ass off at this point.
Of late, Dave has been discovering his latent Handy Man streak, and has discovered that he actually does have some aptitude with tools and the like. But he still comes to me with his car questions.
I think the cutest part is that he doesn't know why that's cute.
So yeah, his tire was worn through in one spot. Yup. Time for new tires. Well, the heat and phone bills will wait. The tires won't. I might call the utility company and let them know what's up-- I know they're legally required to be Very Understanding About All This, but it might help if I tell them beforehand that they're going to have to be Very Understanding About All This for at least two weeks.
Also, I need to call my bank and get an auto loan. Oh boy! More debt! At least I found out that the guy down the street with the auto-repair shop who sometimes sells used cars is indirectly related to Dave through Dave's cousin's wife, who vouches for his trustworthiness, so at least I have one "in" in the Buffalo used-car world. ^.^ Gotta go have me a conversation with him, too.
Sometimes he is The Manly Man, and sometimes I am the Manly Woman. I grew up in a household with somewhat-but-not-very traditional gender roles: Mom cooked because she was good at it and enjoyed it, Dad fixed cars because he'd been working on cars since he was a little boy.
But I had no brothers, only sisters. So, as a child, among my peers, I had no real gender awareness. There was no "the boys, the girls", there were only the girls, which by default was "the kids". And I always admired my dad more-- I know, unfair, but Mom was around more and Dad was working two jobs, so I saw him less and when I did see him he was far more often doing something interesting. Also, his manner with children was always to treat us as though we were perfectly capable of understanding everything that went on-- really, he felt, the only thing separating children from adults was inexperience, and that always worked fine for me.
So, me and my sisters grew up thinking it was fun to work on cars, and Dad insisted when he taught us to drive (I learned at 13, because Katy was 15 and he was teaching her so she could get her permit on her birthday) that we also had to know how the thing worked. So we rotated tires and checked fluids and changed oil and engine coolant and the like, and he even showed us how to regap spark-plugs, not that anybody does that anymore.
Dave is one of two children and his only sibling is an older sister. His dad was a fairly manly man-- he worked in construction and did a lot of his cars' maintenance himself, and the like. So, theoretically, his environment was more gendered than mine, by a narrow margin (and his mom and sister do the The Girls thing sometimes, which is something that my family never even thought of until we'd all left home). But Dave has never been particularly Manly, and was never interested in cars, and didn't even get his drivers' license until he was 21.
So when I met him, he didn't know how to check his oil. And today is the first time in his life he's changed a tire. His account of doing so was really funny. (He read the owner's manual and called Roadside Assistance just to ask them where the jack handle was.) He called me up at the time of the Flat Tire Incident to tell me what had happened, and to ask me how to get the tire off once the lug nuts were removed.
"Um," I said, "pull."
"It's stuck," he said.
"Kick it around the edges to loosen it," I said. "It's probably a bit rusty or gunky."
"Ok," he said, and hung up.
When he got home he said, "I figured out why I couldn't get the tire off."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I just had to put more ass into it."
Dave "putting some ass into" something is a funny concept, given his almost complete lack of anything in the back. But he re-enacted for me the Putting Of Ass Into Tire Removal. He squatted down, looking insectlike with his sharp knees sticking up past his shoulders (you think I'm kidding, but I'm not), and pretended to reach forward and grip the tire.
"I just kinda leaned back," he said, "and hung of the wheel for a while. Just as someone came out of the gas station it gave way--" and he flopped over onto his ass and rolled onto his back, bent legs sticking up in the air --" and I fell over, and the guy coming out looked at me and said, 'You OK?' 'Yeah,' I said, and lay there a minute," pantomining the tire on his chest and his feet in the air.
You probably had to be there but I was laughing my own less-insubstantial ass off at this point.
Of late, Dave has been discovering his latent Handy Man streak, and has discovered that he actually does have some aptitude with tools and the like. But he still comes to me with his car questions.
I think the cutest part is that he doesn't know why that's cute.
So yeah, his tire was worn through in one spot. Yup. Time for new tires. Well, the heat and phone bills will wait. The tires won't. I might call the utility company and let them know what's up-- I know they're legally required to be Very Understanding About All This, but it might help if I tell them beforehand that they're going to have to be Very Understanding About All This for at least two weeks.
Also, I need to call my bank and get an auto loan. Oh boy! More debt! At least I found out that the guy down the street with the auto-repair shop who sometimes sells used cars is indirectly related to Dave through Dave's cousin's wife, who vouches for his trustworthiness, so at least I have one "in" in the Buffalo used-car world. ^.^ Gotta go have me a conversation with him, too.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-16 07:35 pm (UTC)Well, not usually before seven anyway.
- Z