cgc
Member
Mine was intended to make folks laugh...****, if I heard someone tell that story, the visual images in my head would have me with tears running down my face....
Last edited:
Huge Toolbox Giveaway Contest--Too Funny
- Thread starter JSK
- Start date
Mine was intended to make folks laugh...****, if I heard someone tell that story, the visual images in my head would have me with tears running down my face....
onemoretry
Well-known member
- Joined
- Apr 12, 2008
- Messages
- 326
As a young man, I was very lucky as I lived about a mile from my grandparents and could easily walk there whenever I wanted. My grandfather was a very patient man and put up with countless silly questions from a high spirited young lad. He owned a filling station in the 50s and 60s and had many of the tools that he used in his shop. I was always interested in his tools and always wanted to help. His collection was intensive and he was willing to show me how each tool worked.
Although he was generally a lucky guy (as am I, which is why I am certain I will win the contest), one day coming home from school, as I passed his house, I saw a fire truck leaving. My friend and I quickly turned around and went back to learn of the excitement. My grandfather was working on his tractor when the fuel line slipped off. The stream of fuel was ignited and he was blown far from the garage. As I wrote above, he was a lucky fellow and wasn’t hurt. He had the presence of mind to run back into the garage and drop the garage door, effectively stopping the fire. We took inventory of everything and found, apart from the tractor little was damaged.
I have since moved away but think fondly about my youth and miss many of the stories that my grandfather told me. Sadly, I have also lost much of my knowledge about tools. Being lucky though, I now have the time to pick up the hobby and relive a little of younger years. I also have my grandfather’s tools. I thought I would post some pictures that might add a little color to the story, and at the same time ask a question as I have forgotten much.
I do remember my grandfather being very fond of 1 particular tool; he said it was useful for just about everything. I am not sure how to use it anymore though, no matter how much effort I have put into figuring it out. Here is a picture, any thoughts would be helpful.
I’ll also post a picture of his tool box that contains the rest of his tools. How nice it would be to have a nice new tool box to sit with his. As all of his tools fit in this box, I am not sure I really have a need for a new box, but it sure would be nice.
To complete the story, I have also been lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time and was able to buy the fire truck that I saw leaving my grandfather’s house that fateful day. In fact, the two threads referenced in my signature describe the process of building the garage that I now have the fire truck in. That shiny new box sure would look nice sitting by the fire truck in my new garage.
Although he was generally a lucky guy (as am I, which is why I am certain I will win the contest), one day coming home from school, as I passed his house, I saw a fire truck leaving. My friend and I quickly turned around and went back to learn of the excitement. My grandfather was working on his tractor when the fuel line slipped off. The stream of fuel was ignited and he was blown far from the garage. As I wrote above, he was a lucky fellow and wasn’t hurt. He had the presence of mind to run back into the garage and drop the garage door, effectively stopping the fire. We took inventory of everything and found, apart from the tractor little was damaged.
I have since moved away but think fondly about my youth and miss many of the stories that my grandfather told me. Sadly, I have also lost much of my knowledge about tools. Being lucky though, I now have the time to pick up the hobby and relive a little of younger years. I also have my grandfather’s tools. I thought I would post some pictures that might add a little color to the story, and at the same time ask a question as I have forgotten much.
I do remember my grandfather being very fond of 1 particular tool; he said it was useful for just about everything. I am not sure how to use it anymore though, no matter how much effort I have put into figuring it out. Here is a picture, any thoughts would be helpful.
I’ll also post a picture of his tool box that contains the rest of his tools. How nice it would be to have a nice new tool box to sit with his. As all of his tools fit in this box, I am not sure I really have a need for a new box, but it sure would be nice.
To complete the story, I have also been lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time and was able to buy the fire truck that I saw leaving my grandfather’s house that fateful day. In fact, the two threads referenced in my signature describe the process of building the garage that I now have the fire truck in. That shiny new box sure would look nice sitting by the fire truck in my new garage.
rsanter
Well-known member
I was not there at the time but back in my college days I used to take an automotive class every semester just so I could have free access to the shop which included some cool stuff like 2 dynos, flow bench and a full automotive machine shop.
I was an engineering student but I had to have some fun...
anyhow
during one of the clases that I was not there. one of the students had his car on the lift and has used one of those tripod type screw jacks to hold something up. anyhow, when he was done and went to put the car down he forgot to remove the tripod jack and ended up knocking the car off the lift.
some people should no be allowed to use big tools..
bob
I was an engineering student but I had to have some fun...
anyhow
during one of the clases that I was not there. one of the students had his car on the lift and has used one of those tripod type screw jacks to hold something up. anyhow, when he was done and went to put the car down he forgot to remove the tripod jack and ended up knocking the car off the lift.
some people should no be allowed to use big tools..
bob
rsanter
Well-known member
another one I can think of
back when I had my shop I had a guy working for me named Ron.
Ron was a good fabricator and a decent mechanic most of the time. however there were some instances that earned him a couple of sayings around the shop.
one of which was.... its been all Ron'ed up
well Ron was often late and there was always a story of how bad things happen to him and how the world is out to get him...bla bla bla
Ron was a bright enough guy but it seemed that at some point in the decision process he would take a left turn in the process and do something stupid.
anyhow. one day Ron was late again, and I was ticked off again. he immediatly came up to me with another 'Ron story'. everyone else in the shop stopped what they were doing to come hears Rons newest hard luck story.
some background....Ron drove an old POS van and the chanrging system was giving him some problems. he 'borrowed' my shop battery (large truck type battery we used for jump starting cars that needed it) and he was carring in the van so he could jump the thing when he needed to drive it. that pissed me off but I figured at least he would get to work on time...I hope.
next I know the shop jumper cables are missing only to find that Ron has those too. again I am mad but I figure that it will help him get to work and at least we will have access to them once he is there.....
this was an every time you need to start the thing event so he kept the battery and jumper cables on the passenger floor so he could open the door and easily jump the van.
so back to the story.....one day the van had gotten so bad that he would jump the thing but as soon as he removed the jumper cables the van would die.
so he got the idea that he would run the jumper cables through the window and connect to the vans battery and drive it like that. he closed the hood but it would not latch with the cables there but the safety catch cought so good enough....
now this is an OK idea, kind of good thinking on the spot. it seems it would work if you keep to the side roads and dont go too fast......well Ron got on the freeway.
going down the freeway the hood flies up and breaks off and flies up in the air. it ended up hitting the car the was behind him.....
so Ron is telling us this story and how life is out to get him. all the wile we are looking at each other and trying not to laugh. Ron never figured out that his bad luck was caused by his own decisions
bob
back when I had my shop I had a guy working for me named Ron.
Ron was a good fabricator and a decent mechanic most of the time. however there were some instances that earned him a couple of sayings around the shop.
one of which was.... its been all Ron'ed up
well Ron was often late and there was always a story of how bad things happen to him and how the world is out to get him...bla bla bla
Ron was a bright enough guy but it seemed that at some point in the decision process he would take a left turn in the process and do something stupid.
anyhow. one day Ron was late again, and I was ticked off again. he immediatly came up to me with another 'Ron story'. everyone else in the shop stopped what they were doing to come hears Rons newest hard luck story.
some background....Ron drove an old POS van and the chanrging system was giving him some problems. he 'borrowed' my shop battery (large truck type battery we used for jump starting cars that needed it) and he was carring in the van so he could jump the thing when he needed to drive it. that pissed me off but I figured at least he would get to work on time...I hope.
next I know the shop jumper cables are missing only to find that Ron has those too. again I am mad but I figure that it will help him get to work and at least we will have access to them once he is there.....
this was an every time you need to start the thing event so he kept the battery and jumper cables on the passenger floor so he could open the door and easily jump the van.
so back to the story.....one day the van had gotten so bad that he would jump the thing but as soon as he removed the jumper cables the van would die.
so he got the idea that he would run the jumper cables through the window and connect to the vans battery and drive it like that. he closed the hood but it would not latch with the cables there but the safety catch cought so good enough....
now this is an OK idea, kind of good thinking on the spot. it seems it would work if you keep to the side roads and dont go too fast......well Ron got on the freeway.
going down the freeway the hood flies up and breaks off and flies up in the air. it ended up hitting the car the was behind him.....
so Ron is telling us this story and how life is out to get him. all the wile we are looking at each other and trying not to laugh. Ron never figured out that his bad luck was caused by his own decisions
bob
Those are beautiful tool boxes and I'd like a shot at them! They would help me organize the tools I've got piled about. Unlike many of the members, I've only got one rollaway; an old Proto. And it hasn't been the same since it collided with a fireproof filing cabinet. But that is another story… Here’s my entry. It is a true story.
As an apprentice mechanic I did a lot of lube jobs in the small shop where I worked. This was back in the early 1980's. The shop was owned by a man named Al. Al was as hard as nails. Al was a fighter pilot shot down over occupied Europe. He spent much of the war as a POW in Germany and I believe he became hardened in camp. He didn't take guff from anyone and he always told you exactly what he thought. He could strike fear in you just with a look.
One day a customer in a beautiful blue Skylark drove in for an “oil filter change”.
I put the car on the hoist and pulled the drain plug. Almost as soon as I pulled the plug, the owner came sprinting over and yelled at me to stop draining the oil. He said he wanted an “oil filter change”, not an oil change. I put the plug in, but tried to explain to him that oil gets dirty and breaks down with time. He told me that the filter cleans the oil and that oil never breaks down. He said the oil companies have us all bamboozled into believing that oil wears out so that they can sell more oil. I asked him about the additives. Those wear out don't they? Yes he said, but the fresh quart you put in with an “oil filter change” replenishes them.
Having recently finished Engine class at trade school, where I learned all about oil, I tried to reason with him. Nothing doing. The evil oil companies were stealing our money. Al gave me a look that said: “Do what the customer wants”.
I replaced the oil filter, topped off the oil, checked the other fluids, lubed the suspension, knocked the dust out of the air filter and aired the tires. As he pulled out I shook my head thinking what a waste of a beautiful car.
Several months went by and the blue Skylark pulled into the drive. The owner stopped in front of the bays and revved the engine as he turned it off. VRROOMMM!! VRRROOOM!! VRRROOOMM! VROomm! vroom. I was walking past the Skylark so I said: “Excuse me sir, is there a reason you rev your engine before shutting it off?” He said: “Yes!” “It brings all of the cylinders to the top so it's easier to start!”
I said: Oh, thanks!” and hurried off to the restroom. As soon as I got inside I burst out laughing. I didn’t want to embarrass a customer.
Al greeted the man and then got in the passenger side and went for a drive. When they returned they sat in the car talking for about 20 minutes, which was a long conversation for Al. Al got out and the blue Skylark slowly turned around and drove away. Al stood at the entrance to the bays and watched him leave. I walked over and asked what was wrong with the Skylark. Al said: “He should have changed that oil”.
The owner was too embarrassed to leave the car and we never again saw the blue Skylark.
To this day I wish I'd asked the Skylark's owner one question: “How do you know when all of the cylinders are at the top”?
Thank you for the shot at the boxes!
Plombob
As an apprentice mechanic I did a lot of lube jobs in the small shop where I worked. This was back in the early 1980's. The shop was owned by a man named Al. Al was as hard as nails. Al was a fighter pilot shot down over occupied Europe. He spent much of the war as a POW in Germany and I believe he became hardened in camp. He didn't take guff from anyone and he always told you exactly what he thought. He could strike fear in you just with a look.
One day a customer in a beautiful blue Skylark drove in for an “oil filter change”.
I put the car on the hoist and pulled the drain plug. Almost as soon as I pulled the plug, the owner came sprinting over and yelled at me to stop draining the oil. He said he wanted an “oil filter change”, not an oil change. I put the plug in, but tried to explain to him that oil gets dirty and breaks down with time. He told me that the filter cleans the oil and that oil never breaks down. He said the oil companies have us all bamboozled into believing that oil wears out so that they can sell more oil. I asked him about the additives. Those wear out don't they? Yes he said, but the fresh quart you put in with an “oil filter change” replenishes them.
Having recently finished Engine class at trade school, where I learned all about oil, I tried to reason with him. Nothing doing. The evil oil companies were stealing our money. Al gave me a look that said: “Do what the customer wants”.
I replaced the oil filter, topped off the oil, checked the other fluids, lubed the suspension, knocked the dust out of the air filter and aired the tires. As he pulled out I shook my head thinking what a waste of a beautiful car.
Several months went by and the blue Skylark pulled into the drive. The owner stopped in front of the bays and revved the engine as he turned it off. VRROOMMM!! VRRROOOM!! VRRROOOMM! VROomm! vroom. I was walking past the Skylark so I said: “Excuse me sir, is there a reason you rev your engine before shutting it off?” He said: “Yes!” “It brings all of the cylinders to the top so it's easier to start!”
I said: Oh, thanks!” and hurried off to the restroom. As soon as I got inside I burst out laughing. I didn’t want to embarrass a customer.
Al greeted the man and then got in the passenger side and went for a drive. When they returned they sat in the car talking for about 20 minutes, which was a long conversation for Al. Al got out and the blue Skylark slowly turned around and drove away. Al stood at the entrance to the bays and watched him leave. I walked over and asked what was wrong with the Skylark. Al said: “He should have changed that oil”.
The owner was too embarrassed to leave the car and we never again saw the blue Skylark.
To this day I wish I'd asked the Skylark's owner one question: “How do you know when all of the cylinders are at the top”?
Thank you for the shot at the boxes!
Plombob
I'll toss in another story, compiled from personal experience and a few tales from my father mixed into one...
I'm a machinist by trade, and as such I work in an environment of odd men and toolboxes. Now, we all get bored from time to time, and shop pranks have a tendency to break up the day...but some people just don't know where to stop, and so they must be taught a lesson. We've all worked with a guy like Bob, some people like him, but most find him to be a jackass. Bob's schtick is to come into work early and mess with people's toolboxes and, with a straight face, deny being the culprit for days before giving in. When Bob messed with my box, it was time for him to be schooled on limitations. His normal method was to move someone's box halfway around the shop and hide it somewhere, and sometimes he'd pick locks and empty your tools into a box that he hid as well, so you'd spend an hour finding your empty box, and another hour finding your tools only to spend another hour putting them away. On this particular morning Bob went too far, not only did he change his MO, he actually damaged property. I happened to be a machinist/fabricator at this particular company, so I had a machinist box and another box for my fab tools. When I walked into work and found them both missing, I knew it was going to be a rough day. After 20 minutes I found my first bow hiding in the men's bathroom, in the stall and the door wouldn't open far enough to get it out. Bob had taken the stall apart, and replaced the Phillips screws on the stall walls with those "only turn one way" screws that are supposed to be on there...10 minutes with a drill and the stall was open (albeit with a few screws now missing). Thankfully that box was full, and now the search was on to find my fab box. After 2 hours of looking, I finally found my fab box on the roof on the back side of the building, and luckily that one was full too, except that he had drilled the lock when he couldn't pick it, and filled the box with fish fillets and cheese slices (my box is black, on a roof and sitting in the sun for over 3 hours)...it was time for revenge and a lesson...
Planning this caper took me 2 days, and Bob's vacation the following week allowed me the perfect opportunity to pull it off. I came in to work, along with 2 other guys who were fed up with him, at 3am the day before Bob got back...we had the entire previous week liberated all of his tools and carefully duct taped them all together, wasting 5 rolls of tape in the process. At 3am we proceeded to use the forklift with a cage to lift his box up to the rafters of the building and using metal pallet banding (and a LOT of it) secure his now empty box to the rafters. After it was securely in place, we then went and filled a few of the drawers with expanding foam through the gaps in the drawers, and lathered the box up with a half gallon of axle grease we found in the supply closet. After getting safely back on the ground, we put the man lift cage up on the roof, jacked up the forklift and put blocks under the frame so that the tires were a half inch off the ground, locked the forklift key in the boss' office (our boss doesn't work Mondays) and we then went out for breakfast together.
Arriving at work on time, it was now time for the 3 of us to watch the mayhem unfold. It took Bob an hour to find his box on the ceiling, another 30 minutes to realize the key for the forklift was locked in the office and open the door, an hour to get the blocks out from under the forklift (after 5 minutes of spinning the tires), another hour to find the cage on the roof, 20 minutes bribing someone to lift him up to his box, 2 hours wiping grease off and cutting pallet strapping off, 20 minutes to bribe someone to let him down, half an hour to get his foamed drawers open, and another hour to find his tools that we so politely wrapped into a huge ball of sticky silver duct tape...when we left work that day Bob was still unwrapping his tools, but for the next 4 years until he quit he never once messed with anyone again...
I still worry about Bob tracking me down, but I think if I had a huge Ranger toolbox bolted to my fab shop floor he'd think twice before touching something so nice, and he surely wouldn't be able to roll it away...
I'm a machinist by trade, and as such I work in an environment of odd men and toolboxes. Now, we all get bored from time to time, and shop pranks have a tendency to break up the day...but some people just don't know where to stop, and so they must be taught a lesson. We've all worked with a guy like Bob, some people like him, but most find him to be a jackass. Bob's schtick is to come into work early and mess with people's toolboxes and, with a straight face, deny being the culprit for days before giving in. When Bob messed with my box, it was time for him to be schooled on limitations. His normal method was to move someone's box halfway around the shop and hide it somewhere, and sometimes he'd pick locks and empty your tools into a box that he hid as well, so you'd spend an hour finding your empty box, and another hour finding your tools only to spend another hour putting them away. On this particular morning Bob went too far, not only did he change his MO, he actually damaged property. I happened to be a machinist/fabricator at this particular company, so I had a machinist box and another box for my fab tools. When I walked into work and found them both missing, I knew it was going to be a rough day. After 20 minutes I found my first bow hiding in the men's bathroom, in the stall and the door wouldn't open far enough to get it out. Bob had taken the stall apart, and replaced the Phillips screws on the stall walls with those "only turn one way" screws that are supposed to be on there...10 minutes with a drill and the stall was open (albeit with a few screws now missing). Thankfully that box was full, and now the search was on to find my fab box. After 2 hours of looking, I finally found my fab box on the roof on the back side of the building, and luckily that one was full too, except that he had drilled the lock when he couldn't pick it, and filled the box with fish fillets and cheese slices (my box is black, on a roof and sitting in the sun for over 3 hours)...it was time for revenge and a lesson...
Planning this caper took me 2 days, and Bob's vacation the following week allowed me the perfect opportunity to pull it off. I came in to work, along with 2 other guys who were fed up with him, at 3am the day before Bob got back...we had the entire previous week liberated all of his tools and carefully duct taped them all together, wasting 5 rolls of tape in the process. At 3am we proceeded to use the forklift with a cage to lift his box up to the rafters of the building and using metal pallet banding (and a LOT of it) secure his now empty box to the rafters. After it was securely in place, we then went and filled a few of the drawers with expanding foam through the gaps in the drawers, and lathered the box up with a half gallon of axle grease we found in the supply closet. After getting safely back on the ground, we put the man lift cage up on the roof, jacked up the forklift and put blocks under the frame so that the tires were a half inch off the ground, locked the forklift key in the boss' office (our boss doesn't work Mondays) and we then went out for breakfast together.
Arriving at work on time, it was now time for the 3 of us to watch the mayhem unfold. It took Bob an hour to find his box on the ceiling, another 30 minutes to realize the key for the forklift was locked in the office and open the door, an hour to get the blocks out from under the forklift (after 5 minutes of spinning the tires), another hour to find the cage on the roof, 20 minutes bribing someone to lift him up to his box, 2 hours wiping grease off and cutting pallet strapping off, 20 minutes to bribe someone to let him down, half an hour to get his foamed drawers open, and another hour to find his tools that we so politely wrapped into a huge ball of sticky silver duct tape...when we left work that day Bob was still unwrapping his tools, but for the next 4 years until he quit he never once messed with anyone again...
I still worry about Bob tracking me down, but I think if I had a huge Ranger toolbox bolted to my fab shop floor he'd think twice before touching something so nice, and he surely wouldn't be able to roll it away...
nonhog
Well-known member
So here I am all alone in Idaho and the only job I can find is at a CrappyLube.
It all started when my really expensive Motorcoach broke down and I had to pay hundreds of thousands to get it repaired. which I could afford due to the fact I was a male barista (pays about the same as most CEO's) Well one day while delivering a Mocha to a young lady in my racer "the MACH 6". This guy jumps in front of me with a smoothie and hands it to my customer and spills it on her. Well I could not allow that so got between them and I got some spilled on me. Anyway I got fired for having a dirty uniform. Now I work for CrappyLube just so I can live my crazy lifestyle of the rich and wacky.
I need that toolbox so I don't have to carry my tools to work in the MACH 6or my very large RV.
Thanks for your consideration
It all started when my really expensive Motorcoach broke down and I had to pay hundreds of thousands to get it repaired. which I could afford due to the fact I was a male barista (pays about the same as most CEO's) Well one day while delivering a Mocha to a young lady in my racer "the MACH 6". This guy jumps in front of me with a smoothie and hands it to my customer and spills it on her. Well I could not allow that so got between them and I got some spilled on me. Anyway I got fired for having a dirty uniform. Now I work for CrappyLube just so I can live my crazy lifestyle of the rich and wacky.
I need that toolbox so I don't have to carry my tools to work in the MACH 6or my very large RV.
Thanks for your consideration
DelmarvaOffroad
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jul 7, 2009
- Messages
- 51
I am a 21 yr old college student trying to start my own shop. The past 3 1/2 years I have been doing my work out on an apartment parking lot keeping all my tools in the truck box in dodge ram. In Feb I finally bought a house and now working on building a shop on the property right now. I am currently using 3 different craftsman boxes that dont stack and take up my entire shed. I was looking for one big and tall box but there is no way I can afford one along with building my shop and paying the mortgage. So in turn, if I will I will gladly plaster your name on the shop walls, internet, and my competition Jeep.
boseefus402
Well-known member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2006
- Messages
- 183
My post count may be nothing, but I’ve been here for a year and look at posts a few times a day. If my signature had an hour meter it’d be a lot. ANYWAYS
Let me start off by saying I like my tool boxes like I like my bikes and women, a big ol full dresser with a set of saddle bags. Right now my skinny **** weighs more than my useless craftsman homeowners box that I blew all the drawer slides out of. I’m hotter for a real box than my hippo wife at a Def Leppard concert.
In a beer induced moment of genius, I decide one day that I can just go ahead and build my own fab table, with heavy drawers to solve my storage problems. (see http://www.garagejournal.com/forum/showthread.php?t=31653) I get the pallet racking cut down to size and have the huge steel slab recessed in for its first test fit. The side supports aren’t welded in yet and the boxes for the fab table I am going to use are sitting underneath. That’s when the buffalo charges through door like there’s a mobile Tasty Freeze going down the street. She was pissed at me for not doing something, I can’t remember what exactly it was, all I kept hearing was this clucking noise when she was giving me my instructions before. Anyways when she herds through the door, her one woman stampede earthquakes the garage and collapses my fab table and my 300 pound steel slab smashes my boxes and deforms the table all to ****. My hopes of a real storage solution are shattered like my nuts when my wife decides it’s cute to sit on my lap.
I need a box that can stand up to my tools and my wife. Please help me!
Let me start off by saying I like my tool boxes like I like my bikes and women, a big ol full dresser with a set of saddle bags. Right now my skinny **** weighs more than my useless craftsman homeowners box that I blew all the drawer slides out of. I’m hotter for a real box than my hippo wife at a Def Leppard concert.
In a beer induced moment of genius, I decide one day that I can just go ahead and build my own fab table, with heavy drawers to solve my storage problems. (see http://www.garagejournal.com/forum/showthread.php?t=31653) I get the pallet racking cut down to size and have the huge steel slab recessed in for its first test fit. The side supports aren’t welded in yet and the boxes for the fab table I am going to use are sitting underneath. That’s when the buffalo charges through door like there’s a mobile Tasty Freeze going down the street. She was pissed at me for not doing something, I can’t remember what exactly it was, all I kept hearing was this clucking noise when she was giving me my instructions before. Anyways when she herds through the door, her one woman stampede earthquakes the garage and collapses my fab table and my 300 pound steel slab smashes my boxes and deforms the table all to ****. My hopes of a real storage solution are shattered like my nuts when my wife decides it’s cute to sit on my lap.
I need a box that can stand up to my tools and my wife. Please help me!
I would be grateful if I won the Ranger Products tool boxes. My old Proto tool box collided with a fireproof filing cabinet. It was doing about 8 MPH when it hit the cabinet. It didn’t hurt the concrete-lined filing cabinet. Here’s another true story from way back.
After I left the mechanical trade, I went into automotive insurance claims. I was working for one of the top independent appraisal firms in the country. Then our biggest customer bought the company. John, the regional manager, met with the new management team. He decided to retire rather than play by their rules.
The Newport office hosted John’s retirement party. I and another appraiser carpooled to the party. On the way, I decided to pick up a card for John. We stopped at a card shop but I couldn’t find any retirement cards. Then I spied one on a rack by the cash register. As I checked out I noticed that the card I’d taken was dirty, so I grabbed another and paid the bill.
The card was a pop-up. When you pulled on the sleeve, a cruise ship and the words: “Bon Voyage!” exploded out of a bottle of champagne. It was made so that you couldn’t open the card before giving it to the recipient. The card had a picture of what the popup looked like on a plastic wrapper.
It was a big party. People from all over John’s region came out to say goodbye. It was a fine send off; lots of laughter and stories from the “good old days”. Then John started opening his cards. There were funny cards and sad cards. The cards got passed around so all could read the inscriptions. Then John opened the pop-up. Instead of a cruise ship, a big heart popped up. Instead of a champagne bottle, a bouquet of roses popped up. And instead of “Bon Voyage!”, “Thinking of You with Love!” exploded out of the card. John held the card and stared at it with a puzzled look. Then his face turned red.
The room suddenly went quiet. Everyone was staring at the card, and then at me. I tried to explain, but someone decided it was time to leave. The party broke up and people were whispering in groups as they left. On the drive home, my carpool partner said: “Way to go Bob! Breaking up John’s retirement party like that!
I felt pretty bad about it until I realized that somewhere a guy bought a romantic card for his sweetheart, and when she opened it, it said: “BON VOYAGE!”
After I left the mechanical trade, I went into automotive insurance claims. I was working for one of the top independent appraisal firms in the country. Then our biggest customer bought the company. John, the regional manager, met with the new management team. He decided to retire rather than play by their rules.
The Newport office hosted John’s retirement party. I and another appraiser carpooled to the party. On the way, I decided to pick up a card for John. We stopped at a card shop but I couldn’t find any retirement cards. Then I spied one on a rack by the cash register. As I checked out I noticed that the card I’d taken was dirty, so I grabbed another and paid the bill.
The card was a pop-up. When you pulled on the sleeve, a cruise ship and the words: “Bon Voyage!” exploded out of a bottle of champagne. It was made so that you couldn’t open the card before giving it to the recipient. The card had a picture of what the popup looked like on a plastic wrapper.
It was a big party. People from all over John’s region came out to say goodbye. It was a fine send off; lots of laughter and stories from the “good old days”. Then John started opening his cards. There were funny cards and sad cards. The cards got passed around so all could read the inscriptions. Then John opened the pop-up. Instead of a cruise ship, a big heart popped up. Instead of a champagne bottle, a bouquet of roses popped up. And instead of “Bon Voyage!”, “Thinking of You with Love!” exploded out of the card. John held the card and stared at it with a puzzled look. Then his face turned red.
The room suddenly went quiet. Everyone was staring at the card, and then at me. I tried to explain, but someone decided it was time to leave. The party broke up and people were whispering in groups as they left. On the drive home, my carpool partner said: “Way to go Bob! Breaking up John’s retirement party like that!
I felt pretty bad about it until I realized that somewhere a guy bought a romantic card for his sweetheart, and when she opened it, it said: “BON VOYAGE!”
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boseefus402
Well-known member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2006
- Messages
- 183
Dear Jeff /BendPak / Ranger,
Yes please help my poor husband. After reading this I’ve decided to lock his stick figure *** out in the garage every chance I get. Please take pitty on him and send him a tool box to keep him company. Maybe with all his tools and new tool box he could weld himself a mistress, or at least some devise with a lot of holes in it, because his nozzle isn’t getting anywhere near this tanker anytime soon!
Sincerely,
Mrs. Boseefus402
Yes please help my poor husband. After reading this I’ve decided to lock his stick figure *** out in the garage every chance I get. Please take pitty on him and send him a tool box to keep him company. Maybe with all his tools and new tool box he could weld himself a mistress, or at least some devise with a lot of holes in it, because his nozzle isn’t getting anywhere near this tanker anytime soon!
Sincerely,
Mrs. Boseefus402
Stuey
Well-known member
Are the Ranger boxes made in the USA?
PistolWhip
Well-known member
That's just not cool
. If woman would stop holdin the dam couter hostage all the time, men would have no time for stuff like affairs and war. This dude dosen't need a tool box, he needs a bottle of ******, a case of Gatorade and a one way ticket to Vegas
.JDMopar
Well-known member
If you don't give that box to me,
thru yer winnder, brick yewl see!
Ernest T. Bass
thru yer winnder, brick yewl see!
Ernest T. Bass
PistolWhip
Well-known member
On their web site it says they have a 65,000 square foot "manufacturing facilities located in Santa Paula California," if that helps any.
boseefus402
Well-known member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2006
- Messages
- 183
Since I'm locked out in the garage. This is why I need a real box from Ranger.
This is what a Craftsman Homeowner box looks like on the inside. This happened in the first year of service. All the drawer slides slide into these flimsy sheet metal tabs. Either 15 pounds of tools were too much for this beast of a box to handle or an aftershock from my beloved spouse took it out. All my drawers fall through the cabinet now. Help!
This is what a Craftsman Homeowner box looks like on the inside. This happened in the first year of service. All the drawer slides slide into these flimsy sheet metal tabs. Either 15 pounds of tools were too much for this beast of a box to handle or an aftershock from my beloved spouse took it out. All my drawers fall through the cabinet now. Help!
canucktruck
Active member
It’s been a trying summer. The old man was junk collector extraordinaire having lived on the same property for 40 years and being a car nut for all of his 70 odd years. Before the day came to move him, it was 90 days of trying to throw out the junk, and sort out what treasures to keep.
My “tin sickness” meant much of his stuff ended up in my garage and on top of my projects. I also buried pretty much all of my tools lying about the shop since I don’t have a proper tool box to put them in: Man one of those big red tool boxes would be so great. My New Year’s resolution is to get the mess cleaned up and then the heat up and running.
So tonite’s Christmas Eve, the kids have hit the hay and the old lady’s done all the wrapping and passed out on the couch: No action tonite so I head out to the shop. First I need to find my tools. Digging around and making progress I chuck the good stuff onto the workbench in a spot I cleared among the chaos. I go at it for a couple of hours, gawd there’s nowhere to put it all. Is it really 3 am, the kids will be up in about 2 hours. Man I have to sit and rest a few minutes.
I hear this rumble outside and what sounds like footsteps. Go to the window and rub my eyes. Is that a chopped 50 Merc? Wow what a cool ride. Opening the door this dude is decked on in the dirtiest red coveralls I’ve ever seen. He’s really grey and it sure looks like he’s a fan of the brown pops by the size of his gut.
“Can I help you?” I say
“Are you the Canuck trucker that I’ve been looking for?” he says with a growl.
“Maybe, why you lookin for me?”
“Heard you were quite the packrat, came to see your stuff firsthand”
“What the heck, maybe you’ll need some of the junk. C’mon in and see.”
“Wow, you got lots of stuff. Is that a Chevy Landau Phaeton?”
“Yeh, the old man had it for years and never finished. Never seemed to be able to find the time or tools.”
“Guess the seed turns into the same old tree?” he says. Piss me off eh? I don’t answer him. “I heard you had Mercury trucks too, a ‘61 I see” he says
“I’m surprised you can actually see it, never mind knowing that they made Merc trucks in Canada”
“I know lotsa stuff about Canada and lots about you. Boy it looks like you could really use some organizing”
“Just a sec” I say ”I need to take a leak” and slide out beside the garage.
I just get a good stream going and I hear a rumble. When I come back around front, the dude in the cool sled’s gone in a shower of stones. Oh well, he seemed ok but kind of weird. I figure I might as well stay up now as kids are early risers. Wait a minute, my tools. Where are they? That dude ripped me off!
Whaa….I’m on the ground next to a pile of artillery wheels I saved, having fallen off my makeshift “pile o tires” chair. Man that was some crazy dream. Must have been some rotten egg nog or something.
I rub my eyes and notice that the workbench is empty of tools. Man, I wasn’t dreaming. That crazy dude in the red jammies did rip me off. Then something catches my eye. I rub my eyes again. It’s a brand new red toolbox. I go over for a closer look and inside are all my tools. Man what a crazy night.
Now that I’ll be able to organize my tools, maybe by Easter I’ll be able to finally work out here. Who knows, some whacked out rabbit could show up at Easter to finish my hot rod too!
My “tin sickness” meant much of his stuff ended up in my garage and on top of my projects. I also buried pretty much all of my tools lying about the shop since I don’t have a proper tool box to put them in: Man one of those big red tool boxes would be so great. My New Year’s resolution is to get the mess cleaned up and then the heat up and running.
So tonite’s Christmas Eve, the kids have hit the hay and the old lady’s done all the wrapping and passed out on the couch: No action tonite so I head out to the shop. First I need to find my tools. Digging around and making progress I chuck the good stuff onto the workbench in a spot I cleared among the chaos. I go at it for a couple of hours, gawd there’s nowhere to put it all. Is it really 3 am, the kids will be up in about 2 hours. Man I have to sit and rest a few minutes.
I hear this rumble outside and what sounds like footsteps. Go to the window and rub my eyes. Is that a chopped 50 Merc? Wow what a cool ride. Opening the door this dude is decked on in the dirtiest red coveralls I’ve ever seen. He’s really grey and it sure looks like he’s a fan of the brown pops by the size of his gut.
“Can I help you?” I say
“Are you the Canuck trucker that I’ve been looking for?” he says with a growl.
“Maybe, why you lookin for me?”
“Heard you were quite the packrat, came to see your stuff firsthand”
“What the heck, maybe you’ll need some of the junk. C’mon in and see.”
“Wow, you got lots of stuff. Is that a Chevy Landau Phaeton?”
“Yeh, the old man had it for years and never finished. Never seemed to be able to find the time or tools.”
“Guess the seed turns into the same old tree?” he says. Piss me off eh? I don’t answer him. “I heard you had Mercury trucks too, a ‘61 I see” he says
“I’m surprised you can actually see it, never mind knowing that they made Merc trucks in Canada”
“I know lotsa stuff about Canada and lots about you. Boy it looks like you could really use some organizing”
“Just a sec” I say ”I need to take a leak” and slide out beside the garage.
I just get a good stream going and I hear a rumble. When I come back around front, the dude in the cool sled’s gone in a shower of stones. Oh well, he seemed ok but kind of weird. I figure I might as well stay up now as kids are early risers. Wait a minute, my tools. Where are they? That dude ripped me off!
Whaa….I’m on the ground next to a pile of artillery wheels I saved, having fallen off my makeshift “pile o tires” chair. Man that was some crazy dream. Must have been some rotten egg nog or something.
I rub my eyes and notice that the workbench is empty of tools. Man, I wasn’t dreaming. That crazy dude in the red jammies did rip me off. Then something catches my eye. I rub my eyes again. It’s a brand new red toolbox. I go over for a closer look and inside are all my tools. Man what a crazy night.
Now that I’ll be able to organize my tools, maybe by Easter I’ll be able to finally work out here. Who knows, some whacked out rabbit could show up at Easter to finish my hot rod too!
That's just not cool
I understand the ****** and the ticket to Vegas, but the Gatorade?
Diesel-Mech
Well-known member
You have to stay hydrated while using that ****** you know.
PistolWhip
Well-known member
It's all about the elctrolite's my man!
You don't want the dude to be pullin up knee cartlage by round three.Now that's G...
boseefus402
Well-known member
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2006
- Messages
- 183
Maybe that's my problem! 8 minutes into round 1 Im headin for the door and working on projects, cursing my POS tool box. I bet if I had a Ranger box my tools would be organized enough that I could go for round 2 or 3. See my Ranger box would be a marriage aide!
You have to stay hydrated while using that ****** you know.
Don't need it and didn't know that!
PistolWhip
Well-known member
My wife and I just found out that we're having my first minion, so now we're shopping for baby furniture. So the other day we're walking through Sears and they had a bunch of clearance tool box's. So I stop and I'm just staring; you know, off in that magical wonderland of thoughts where large lunged woman can carry four beers in one hand leaving the other to hold the light, and without me even opening my mouth she's like "don't you even think about it!" I'm like what??? Sportin that grin you get when you know you're hit, but you think you can still salvage a passing excuse... She's like "your not buying tool box's to put the kids clothes in! Your an idiot!" Dam woman doesn't get the idea behind "dual purpose" furniture. Seriously, like if she could fit in an infants shoe we wouldn't be buying open toed, strappy pumps for my new born.... So I told her, I was like "just think, we can save a ton of money buying clearance box's and then when the kids old enough to enjoy the seduction of a collection of tools and nice tool box (you know, like 5 or 6 months old), the baby will have its very own box (meaning my old one of course). What are we gonna do with the baby "furniture" when he/she outgrows that?? Nothing, we're gonna spend a small fortune on some **** that the baby will never remember, appreciate or use beyond the age of 3. Here I am being fiscally responsible in an economically unstable environment and she can't see the benefit of a clearance sale...
No dam clearance tool box for me.......I mean my kid
Can you believe the chick just walked away, didn't even consider it. She could have at least looked at the colors to see if there was anything she'd like... She just walked away shaking her head and rollin her eyes.
mechamunch
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2009
- Messages
- 177
off in that magical wonderland of thoughts where large lunged woman can carry four beers in one hand leaving the other to hold the light...
You mean Munich?
PistolWhip
Well-known member
Munich is like the Atlantic City of this place's Las Vegas
Combination wrenches grow from the rolling hills like the thickins of Sawgrass. Sockets fall from the pry bar limbs of the trees, like the ripened apples of Washington's orchards. And yes, large lunged woman gander about, living only to please the desires of their men. Of course, capable of carrying 4 pints of beer in either hand, leaving the other empty to happily perform at will. This is the mecca of manland my friend, Munich is a trail side pub in the Louisiana bayou compared to this place.I guess I can understand your lack of understanding, you know since this mecca of manland is kind of in my head and all...
Munich is like the Atlantic City of this place's Las Vegas
I guess I can understand your lack of understanding, you know since this mecca of manland is kind of in my head and all...
I must have taken a wrong turn when I got to Munich because the only "larged lunged" woman I met was a nasty old fraulein who kicked me out of a beer tent.
PistolWhip
Well-known member
LOL, never been there and very likely never will be. Guess I'll have to take your word for it...
Actually Munich is a great town. Excellent museums and Octoberfest is great! Picture a carnival with big tents and music and booze at sold everywhere 
and rides 
: designed to make you throw up.
Well.... maybe that's not a definition of "great", but it is something to partake of at least once. And the Verkehrszentrum car museum is around the corner has some amazing cars.
and rides : designed to make you throw up. Well.... maybe that's not a definition of "great", but it is something to partake of at least once. And the Verkehrszentrum car museum is around the corner has some amazing cars.
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I know a guy who doesn't really need a new tool box. He doesn't need lots of things. Fruits, vegetables, expensive toilet paper, water. He thinks he can adapt to his environment pretty well and has in fact survived from almost exclusively without any of the above. But note that beer was not listed. A man needs his basic needs met, you know.
This is a story of a “friend”. A cheap man. Or maybe just poor. A good guy, a friend. But, how should I say...well broke is about right.
And he has a sort of toolbox issue. He's always always wanted a nice one and scours online auctions and ads almost every day for a deal but sets his limit at $40.00 so that's really not working out too great. Once he found one but had to spend another $20.00 on primer, paint, and clear coat so what it ended up being was very shiny, $60.00 turd. Funny how that glossy clear coat really shows off the dents.
Lots of times, as I've been told, you can get free stickers at car shows, lawnmower shops, and similar venues that and when properly applied can help to draw the eye away from the paint runs on the lid, if you have happen to have the sort of reflexes that result in a painting style that tends to lend this effect to your lid. Again, this I've been told. Not sure how one becomes aware of the mis appropriated paint if those stickers were really holding their own in the cosmetics department. But I see his point and nod happily in agreement as he hands me another beer.
And it's not just the box he's after. No way. You've got to have something to go in there so when you call the neighbor over to take note of silky-smooth operation when opening drawers that there's something in there to look at besides the Copenhagen he has to hide from his wife. Yes, he's also been working real hard on collecting lots of tools. Only problem with that is his budget is less for tools than that of the toolbox: He just looks around places and if he sees one he keeps it. Serious. Like if he's mowing someone's lawn (he fancies himself as a gardener by trade) and he accidentally ***** a pipe wrench into the ol' rotary and bends the Brigg's piston rod due to the abrupt stop, he'll count his blessings for the opportunity to add another tool to the fleet. And since rust dissolver goes for about $7 a bottle around here he's basically around $15 in the hole for free tools as of today (not counting the mower). And I think he's gonna need a wire wheel.
To him, it's not really about money or having nice things though. Money can't buy the feeling of satisfaction one has at the end of a long day when you stop to enjoy a beverage a gaze proudly at your shop arrangement and its centerpiece: an ultra high quality Ranger toolbox. Well, actually I'm wrong about that. Money can pretty much take care of that but you get the point.
Anyway, I've been telling him to do what I was going to do and save up for a nice Ranger unit but he keeps holding out for that killer deal. I'll bet if he saw one in real life there'd be no way for him and countless others in my neighborhood to refrain from the inevitable purchase of quality Ranger products.
Thanks for this opportunity and for taking the time to read about my buddy. Now please excuse me while I go apply a second coat of paint to... uh, something.
This is a story of a “friend”. A cheap man. Or maybe just poor. A good guy, a friend. But, how should I say...well broke is about right.
And he has a sort of toolbox issue. He's always always wanted a nice one and scours online auctions and ads almost every day for a deal but sets his limit at $40.00 so that's really not working out too great. Once he found one but had to spend another $20.00 on primer, paint, and clear coat so what it ended up being was very shiny, $60.00 turd. Funny how that glossy clear coat really shows off the dents.
Lots of times, as I've been told, you can get free stickers at car shows, lawnmower shops, and similar venues that and when properly applied can help to draw the eye away from the paint runs on the lid, if you have happen to have the sort of reflexes that result in a painting style that tends to lend this effect to your lid. Again, this I've been told. Not sure how one becomes aware of the mis appropriated paint if those stickers were really holding their own in the cosmetics department. But I see his point and nod happily in agreement as he hands me another beer.
And it's not just the box he's after. No way. You've got to have something to go in there so when you call the neighbor over to take note of silky-smooth operation when opening drawers that there's something in there to look at besides the Copenhagen he has to hide from his wife. Yes, he's also been working real hard on collecting lots of tools. Only problem with that is his budget is less for tools than that of the toolbox: He just looks around places and if he sees one he keeps it. Serious. Like if he's mowing someone's lawn (he fancies himself as a gardener by trade) and he accidentally ***** a pipe wrench into the ol' rotary and bends the Brigg's piston rod due to the abrupt stop, he'll count his blessings for the opportunity to add another tool to the fleet. And since rust dissolver goes for about $7 a bottle around here he's basically around $15 in the hole for free tools as of today (not counting the mower). And I think he's gonna need a wire wheel.
To him, it's not really about money or having nice things though. Money can't buy the feeling of satisfaction one has at the end of a long day when you stop to enjoy a beverage a gaze proudly at your shop arrangement and its centerpiece: an ultra high quality Ranger toolbox. Well, actually I'm wrong about that. Money can pretty much take care of that but you get the point.
Anyway, I've been telling him to do what I was going to do and save up for a nice Ranger unit but he keeps holding out for that killer deal. I'll bet if he saw one in real life there'd be no way for him and countless others in my neighborhood to refrain from the inevitable purchase of quality Ranger products.
Thanks for this opportunity and for taking the time to read about my buddy. Now please excuse me while I go apply a second coat of paint to... uh, something.
Richard Givan
Well-known member
My Entry
It was a quiet night, but to be honest with you, it usually is. Wally had just gone home after rebuilding the carb on Floyd’s Hudson, so I was all by my lonesome at the fillin’ station.
I settled into my sleeping room and gnawed through three or four beef jerkys that I found that morning in the back of the storeroom. The date on the box was 1953, and they were tougher than day-old meatloaf at the Bluebird Diner, but you can wash down anything with enough Nehi blue creams.
I was working the AM dial, trying to tune through the static on the “Bobby Fleet and his Band with a Beat Hour” when they broke in with a news flash that some desperado had done robbed the bank over to Mt. Pilot. Imagine that!
Just then the station bell commenced to dinging as loud and shrill as Barney that time he wrote me a ticket for U-turnin’, dadgum his little black heart. It kept on dinging, so I hitched up my overalls, unlocked the front door, and strolled outside to a De Soto coupe parked cattywumpus crooked, and liked to died. I mean that, I really liked to died because a man with a face meaner than Ben Weaver poked me in the belly with a hog leg pistol and said, “My car just stalled. Fix it, Goober, or eat lead.”
My eyes was big as Aunt Bee’s pies. “Gaaw-aawl-leee! You got it wrong, mister—Goober’s my cousin—I’m Gomer.” I was too flustered to even tell him that Goober says hey. Then I saw two canvas bank bags laying on the backseat with money spilling out, and I knew why he was in such a blamed hurry.
But this feller was wilder than Earnest T. Bass, eyes bugging and spit flying as he yelled, “I don’t care about your family tree—fix my damn car!”
I didn’t see no call for that kind of language but reckoned it might not be the best time to instruct him in the manners of conversating. “I’ll sure enough do my best. Pop the hood, please.”
Well, it didn’t take me no time to spot the problem. The hot wire to his distributor was hanging down loose as that hank of hair on my forehead. She wasn’t getting no spark, and the first rule of motorvating is that automobiles don’t run a lick without no spark.
“I’ll need some tools,” I said, “from my box.”
“Get ‘em, and no funny business or you’ll die laughing.”
He followed me inside to my pride and joy—the Ranger toolbox I treated myself to after my fifth cousin over in Kentucky (Rick Givan—a real nice feller) told me how they were the best made boxes on the market and his highest ambition was to own one himself. Maybe I’m a pump jockey, but I hope to make chief mechanic someday, and a serious workman oughtta take care of his tools. Besides, every time I slide open one of those drawers slick as butter on a biscuit, I can’t help but grin like a jack-o-lantern, and that means a lot.
Anyway, I opened my screwdriver drawer and took a medium-size one. Then I went to my wrenches in the lower cabinet and pulled out a 7/8ths combination that was so rounded-off it wouldn’t back a bolt out of can of lard.
We went back out to his automobile. “Mister, when you look over my shoulder, I get nervous,” I said, like that big old revolver wasn’t scaring the sludge out of me anyway.
He looked at me hard but nodded and climbed behind the wheel. I dove under the hood and slid the wrench out of my pocket. Lickety-split I ran the loose wire through the box end of the wrench and tucked it under the terminal screw on the distributor. Then I snugged up the connection just barely enough to hold with the wrench dangling on the wire like a hound dog’s nut sack.
“All done, Mister,” I told him, shutting the hood before he had a chance to look. “She’ll run right as rain now. Fire ‘er up.”
He turned the key, and the motor roared. That seemed to please him because he reached into the back seat, grabbed a few bills and threw them out the window. “You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled as the tires spit gravel on my legs
When he was out of sight, I ran like a jackrabbit inside the station and grabbed the phone. “Sarah, get me the Sheriff!” When he answered, I told him about the bank robber (most of it; the two fifties in my pocket must have slipped my mind) and how I had rigged his car to stall when he hit that real bumpy section of road down by Kelsey’s Woods. “Then it’s surprise, surprise, surprise for him, Andy. If you and Barney hurry, you can put the habeas grabbus on him for sure!”
So the night was looking up. Because I reckoned Barney would be making like he was the head warden at the jail all night, I figured I’d make a quick stop at the rubber machine in the station restroom before swinging by Otis’ for a bottle. Then off to Thelma Lou’s for me. Shazaam!
Mayberry Confidential
A tale of pure fiction which in no way resembles persons
or characters of any place or setting anywhere at any time--
(just like I have no use for a beautiful Ranger toolbox to house
the hordes of homeless tools floating around my shop.)
A tale of pure fiction which in no way resembles persons
or characters of any place or setting anywhere at any time--
(just like I have no use for a beautiful Ranger toolbox to house
the hordes of homeless tools floating around my shop.)
It was a quiet night, but to be honest with you, it usually is. Wally had just gone home after rebuilding the carb on Floyd’s Hudson, so I was all by my lonesome at the fillin’ station.
I settled into my sleeping room and gnawed through three or four beef jerkys that I found that morning in the back of the storeroom. The date on the box was 1953, and they were tougher than day-old meatloaf at the Bluebird Diner, but you can wash down anything with enough Nehi blue creams.
I was working the AM dial, trying to tune through the static on the “Bobby Fleet and his Band with a Beat Hour” when they broke in with a news flash that some desperado had done robbed the bank over to Mt. Pilot. Imagine that!
Just then the station bell commenced to dinging as loud and shrill as Barney that time he wrote me a ticket for U-turnin’, dadgum his little black heart. It kept on dinging, so I hitched up my overalls, unlocked the front door, and strolled outside to a De Soto coupe parked cattywumpus crooked, and liked to died. I mean that, I really liked to died because a man with a face meaner than Ben Weaver poked me in the belly with a hog leg pistol and said, “My car just stalled. Fix it, Goober, or eat lead.”
My eyes was big as Aunt Bee’s pies. “Gaaw-aawl-leee! You got it wrong, mister—Goober’s my cousin—I’m Gomer.” I was too flustered to even tell him that Goober says hey. Then I saw two canvas bank bags laying on the backseat with money spilling out, and I knew why he was in such a blamed hurry.
But this feller was wilder than Earnest T. Bass, eyes bugging and spit flying as he yelled, “I don’t care about your family tree—fix my damn car!”
I didn’t see no call for that kind of language but reckoned it might not be the best time to instruct him in the manners of conversating. “I’ll sure enough do my best. Pop the hood, please.”
Well, it didn’t take me no time to spot the problem. The hot wire to his distributor was hanging down loose as that hank of hair on my forehead. She wasn’t getting no spark, and the first rule of motorvating is that automobiles don’t run a lick without no spark.
“I’ll need some tools,” I said, “from my box.”
“Get ‘em, and no funny business or you’ll die laughing.”
He followed me inside to my pride and joy—the Ranger toolbox I treated myself to after my fifth cousin over in Kentucky (Rick Givan—a real nice feller) told me how they were the best made boxes on the market and his highest ambition was to own one himself. Maybe I’m a pump jockey, but I hope to make chief mechanic someday, and a serious workman oughtta take care of his tools. Besides, every time I slide open one of those drawers slick as butter on a biscuit, I can’t help but grin like a jack-o-lantern, and that means a lot.
Anyway, I opened my screwdriver drawer and took a medium-size one. Then I went to my wrenches in the lower cabinet and pulled out a 7/8ths combination that was so rounded-off it wouldn’t back a bolt out of can of lard.
We went back out to his automobile. “Mister, when you look over my shoulder, I get nervous,” I said, like that big old revolver wasn’t scaring the sludge out of me anyway.
He looked at me hard but nodded and climbed behind the wheel. I dove under the hood and slid the wrench out of my pocket. Lickety-split I ran the loose wire through the box end of the wrench and tucked it under the terminal screw on the distributor. Then I snugged up the connection just barely enough to hold with the wrench dangling on the wire like a hound dog’s nut sack.
“All done, Mister,” I told him, shutting the hood before he had a chance to look. “She’ll run right as rain now. Fire ‘er up.”
He turned the key, and the motor roared. That seemed to please him because he reached into the back seat, grabbed a few bills and threw them out the window. “You’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled as the tires spit gravel on my legs
When he was out of sight, I ran like a jackrabbit inside the station and grabbed the phone. “Sarah, get me the Sheriff!” When he answered, I told him about the bank robber (most of it; the two fifties in my pocket must have slipped my mind) and how I had rigged his car to stall when he hit that real bumpy section of road down by Kelsey’s Woods. “Then it’s surprise, surprise, surprise for him, Andy. If you and Barney hurry, you can put the habeas grabbus on him for sure!”
So the night was looking up. Because I reckoned Barney would be making like he was the head warden at the jail all night, I figured I’d make a quick stop at the rubber machine in the station restroom before swinging by Otis’ for a bottle. Then off to Thelma Lou’s for me. Shazaam!
S4Morgan
New member
2 Haikus and my story!
You’ve all been there—admit it. You are working on something, and you need a tool—as in NEED THE TOOL NOW. You go to reach in your tool drawer or box in the “spot” where it has always been—frantically feeling for what you need, all the while keeping an eye (and your other hand!) on your project. Lo and behold, your trusty dusty tool is not where it’s supposed to be. We all know how frustrating this is! And this, my dear fellow garage-loving friends, is the reason for my haikus (a 5-7-5 syllabic pattern) above.
I like cars. I like driving them, I like looking at them, and I like making them faster and handle better. When my boyfriend (who is an avid reader of this forum) and I built our house, we put a BendPak scissors lift in our garage. No more oil changes in a gravel driveway, in the snow, on my back. Awesome, right?
Well, you see, what would make it even MORE awesome is if I had my very own toolbox so that I could keep my tools orderly, neat, and accessible when I needed them. And here’s why:
The last time I did an oil change on my car, I got the drain plug out flawlessly. The car was on the lift and I had good leverage since I stood directly under the filter. But when it came time to remove the filter, I fished around in our (but I’ll call it “his”) piece-of-you-know-what disorderly toolbox for quite some time to find the filter strap wrench. No dice. I used all my strength to turn it with my hands and she wouldn’t budge. At all. I was screaming obscenities that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush. I really didn’t want to ask for help for such a simple task—I’ve changed oil dozens of time!
After hanging like a monkey on the filter (literally feet off the ground, knowing I was going to break something!), twisting with my hands, the thing busted loose, and with it—ME! Down I went in a pile. On my back. On the cold, unforgiving cement floor. But guess what? The filter broke loose, but didn’t fall down with me. Nice, right?! No…not nice. Here, the filter was inverted, and pouring nasty, brown, sludgy, warm, slimy 0w-40 goodness ALL OVER my face, in my hair, on my chest, and down my arms. Some of it even wormed its way under my shirt sleeve, down my armpit, and all over my white (but now brown spotted) bra. Victoria and her Secrets would be horrified!
After getting myself off the floor and “dusting off”, I hear what sounded like a muffled giggle. I dart my glaring eyes across the garage and there in the doorway is my beloved boyfriend—HOLDING THE FILTER WRENCH. He knew I was out in the garage to do an oil change. He heard my cussing when I couldn’t get the filter loose, and realized that he didn’t put it back in the tool box—it was in the basement for some reason. When he went to get it and bring it to me, he opened the door and witnessed me dangling from the filter. He knew it would be a good show and BOY WAS IT EVER. He saw the whole escapade, and was laughing too hard to help.
Rest assured he bought me a new bra!
If I was lucky enough to win the Ranger Super-Wide Toolbox Set, it would be glorious to have my own stuff organized how I wanted it! No more rummaging. No more missing items. And for the love of God…no more oil-soaked bras! And if you don’t deem me worthy of winning the toolbox, to the winner: Please keep it orderly and clean! Imagine if your girlfriend/wife/significant other actually was interested in wrenching with you and this same thing happened to her!
Sincerely,
Morgan in Pittsburgh
I need my own chest.
No, not *****, but a tool box.
Super-Wide me please!
I’d love the Ranger!
My boyfriend’s box is messy,
And I can’t find sh!t.
No, not *****, but a tool box.
Super-Wide me please!
I’d love the Ranger!
My boyfriend’s box is messy,
And I can’t find sh!t.
You’ve all been there—admit it. You are working on something, and you need a tool—as in NEED THE TOOL NOW. You go to reach in your tool drawer or box in the “spot” where it has always been—frantically feeling for what you need, all the while keeping an eye (and your other hand!) on your project. Lo and behold, your trusty dusty tool is not where it’s supposed to be. We all know how frustrating this is! And this, my dear fellow garage-loving friends, is the reason for my haikus (a 5-7-5 syllabic pattern) above.
I like cars. I like driving them, I like looking at them, and I like making them faster and handle better. When my boyfriend (who is an avid reader of this forum) and I built our house, we put a BendPak scissors lift in our garage. No more oil changes in a gravel driveway, in the snow, on my back. Awesome, right?
Well, you see, what would make it even MORE awesome is if I had my very own toolbox so that I could keep my tools orderly, neat, and accessible when I needed them. And here’s why:
The last time I did an oil change on my car, I got the drain plug out flawlessly. The car was on the lift and I had good leverage since I stood directly under the filter. But when it came time to remove the filter, I fished around in our (but I’ll call it “his”) piece-of-you-know-what disorderly toolbox for quite some time to find the filter strap wrench. No dice. I used all my strength to turn it with my hands and she wouldn’t budge. At all. I was screaming obscenities that would make even the most seasoned sailor blush. I really didn’t want to ask for help for such a simple task—I’ve changed oil dozens of time!
After hanging like a monkey on the filter (literally feet off the ground, knowing I was going to break something!), twisting with my hands, the thing busted loose, and with it—ME! Down I went in a pile. On my back. On the cold, unforgiving cement floor. But guess what? The filter broke loose, but didn’t fall down with me. Nice, right?! No…not nice. Here, the filter was inverted, and pouring nasty, brown, sludgy, warm, slimy 0w-40 goodness ALL OVER my face, in my hair, on my chest, and down my arms. Some of it even wormed its way under my shirt sleeve, down my armpit, and all over my white (but now brown spotted) bra. Victoria and her Secrets would be horrified!
After getting myself off the floor and “dusting off”, I hear what sounded like a muffled giggle. I dart my glaring eyes across the garage and there in the doorway is my beloved boyfriend—HOLDING THE FILTER WRENCH. He knew I was out in the garage to do an oil change. He heard my cussing when I couldn’t get the filter loose, and realized that he didn’t put it back in the tool box—it was in the basement for some reason. When he went to get it and bring it to me, he opened the door and witnessed me dangling from the filter. He knew it would be a good show and BOY WAS IT EVER. He saw the whole escapade, and was laughing too hard to help.
Rest assured he bought me a new bra!
If I was lucky enough to win the Ranger Super-Wide Toolbox Set, it would be glorious to have my own stuff organized how I wanted it! No more rummaging. No more missing items. And for the love of God…no more oil-soaked bras! And if you don’t deem me worthy of winning the toolbox, to the winner: Please keep it orderly and clean! Imagine if your girlfriend/wife/significant other actually was interested in wrenching with you and this same thing happened to her!
Sincerely,
Morgan in Pittsburgh
charle10
Well-known member
Ode to my snap-on KR557 and side box,
Oh tool box, you are getting way to old,
I'm surprised you have not began to mold.
You're paint is faded and no longer red,
You look like a tomato on its death bed.
You hold all my tools without a doubt,
even the ones my wife has no clue about.
Its been a long time since you recieved a lustful stare,
but if 06wt took your picture I'm sure you'd get your fair share
If you could talk you's say that rust adds age and class,
I'd love a new box because you are a pain in the ***.
After reading these forums I should have learned my lesson,
That is just one high end tool will start an obsession.
All said and done you will be a good friend from here forward,
Cuz four weeks ago when I bought you, it was all I could afford.
Oh tool box, you are getting way to old,
I'm surprised you have not began to mold.
You're paint is faded and no longer red,
You look like a tomato on its death bed.
You hold all my tools without a doubt,
even the ones my wife has no clue about.
Its been a long time since you recieved a lustful stare,
but if 06wt took your picture I'm sure you'd get your fair share
If you could talk you's say that rust adds age and class,
I'd love a new box because you are a pain in the ***.
After reading these forums I should have learned my lesson,
That is just one high end tool will start an obsession.
All said and done you will be a good friend from here forward,
Cuz four weeks ago when I bought you, it was all I could afford.
PistolWhip
Well-known member
Man if nothing else, the GJ got quite a few new members. I hope some of you that joined just for this contest do stick around and enjoy the rest of the site. There is a ton of great info and awesome write ups. There are allot of people on this site that have some awesome garage set ups, toys and tool collections.
charle10
Well-known member
I'll be around for a while, I'm hooked.
PistolWhip
Well-known member
LOL, it's easy to get hooked on this site. The only problem is it makes me need....... or want more stuff that I can't afford. On a positive note though, it opens my eyes to new ways to spend money that I don't have yet. So that way I don't have to chance it possibly burning me when its in my pocket. I've been told that money is the devils toilet paper so that would explain why it always burns holes in all my pants pockets. I certainly don't want to get burned and can't bare to think of having the devil's poopy on me either...
Flathead Red
Well-known member
A guy driving through the countryside comes upon a weird sign advertising a 56 Panhead that runs on Vaseline. The farmer who owns it tells him to take it for a test ride, "but don't go too far 'cause it's low on Vaseline." Off the guy goes, and it roars up to 100 mph and runs perfectly. But a short time later, it sputters and fails.
Meanwhile, at a nearby farmhouse, a family is just finishing dinner. The wife is proud of the meal she's prepared and suggests that she should not have to do the dishes. The older of two daughters says she has a date and cannot do the dishes. The younger daughter says she can't do them because she has homework. The father says he is the man of the house and should not have to do dishes. He suggests a solution. "Let's all go into the living room and sit down, and the first person who says a word has to do the dishes."
Meanwhile, the driver makes his way to the farmhouse, knocks, and gets no reply. He sees the family sitting stone-faced in the living room and knocks again. No response. So he walks in and says, "I knocked, but no one answered. What's the deal?" Not a word from the family. The man notices leftovers on the table and asks if he might eat them. Not a word, so the man eats his fill. "May I have a beer?" he asks, and again gets no response, so he helps himself to a half-dozen of them.
Maybe it's his imagination, but he notices the older daughter giving him the eye. "I'd like to make love to your daughter," he says to the farmer. Taking the lack of response as a yes, they go off together. On his return, he has a few more beers. "How about the other daughter?" he asks, and off they go. Soon he's proposing the same for the farmer's wife, and getting no response, he has his way again. It's getting dark, and the man realizes he must get going. He returns once more to the living room and asks the family if they have any Vaseline.
"All right, all right," says the farmer, "I'll do the damn dishes."
Meanwhile, at a nearby farmhouse, a family is just finishing dinner. The wife is proud of the meal she's prepared and suggests that she should not have to do the dishes. The older of two daughters says she has a date and cannot do the dishes. The younger daughter says she can't do them because she has homework. The father says he is the man of the house and should not have to do dishes. He suggests a solution. "Let's all go into the living room and sit down, and the first person who says a word has to do the dishes."
Meanwhile, the driver makes his way to the farmhouse, knocks, and gets no reply. He sees the family sitting stone-faced in the living room and knocks again. No response. So he walks in and says, "I knocked, but no one answered. What's the deal?" Not a word from the family. The man notices leftovers on the table and asks if he might eat them. Not a word, so the man eats his fill. "May I have a beer?" he asks, and again gets no response, so he helps himself to a half-dozen of them.
Maybe it's his imagination, but he notices the older daughter giving him the eye. "I'd like to make love to your daughter," he says to the farmer. Taking the lack of response as a yes, they go off together. On his return, he has a few more beers. "How about the other daughter?" he asks, and off they go. Soon he's proposing the same for the farmer's wife, and getting no response, he has his way again. It's getting dark, and the man realizes he must get going. He returns once more to the living room and asks the family if they have any Vaseline.
"All right, all right," says the farmer, "I'll do the damn dishes."
Rolling_Thunder
Well-known member
NO ROOM AT THE TOOLBOX INN
Written by John J. Hurley (to read without picture please go to the bottom of the post)
This is a story as old as time itself but true just the same. Yes the story of a group of Tools with no place to rest. We’ll call them the Miscellaneous’s.
For as much as the Miscellaneous’s wanted to be like the rest of the tools in the “Garage Empire” it wasn’t to be as the Toolbox Inn was full with no room in the drawers for the Miscellaneous’s to settle.
Even the Lodges and motels surrounding the Inn had no vacancies.
Oh the poor Miscellaneous’s, they traveled to the far ends of the garage to find shelter but to no avail. They were destined to spend their lives homeless, with no drawer to call their own.This made George and his son Bonzo Overseer’s of the Empire very sad indeed.
Yes, the Miscellaneous’s were very fortunate that the weather in the “Garage Empire” was always comfortable never too hot or too cold thanks to the Climate God “Ramsond”.
And even though they had access to the big entertainment tube in the sky to amuse them
they still spent their days being forced to move from one work bench to another, as vagrants were frowned upon by the OCD diagnosed King of “Garage Empire” King John.
Then one day a very wise man from a town far far away called “Ranger Productsville” came to the “Garage Empire” bearing a great gift. He knew of the plight of the Miscellaneous’s and all the other homeless tools in the “Garage Empire” and was deeply touched. In front of the entire Empire he raised his arms and proclaimed “No tool shall be without Shelter” And with that he waved his tool belt in the air and with the help of the Ranger Productsville Town Storage Committee he constructed the “Ranger Productsville sponsored “Tool Chest Inn.” painted a brilliant Red for all the Empire to see. It was over 11 stories high with 21 rooms to accommodate the homeless tools in the heart of the Garage Empire.
Well the Empire was very grateful for this wonderful act of kindness by the wise man and the Ranger Productsville Town So they proclaimed to spread the word of their great gift throughout all of ToolLand by means of Traveling Tool Satchel’s and Tool Carts
and of course telling all their Garage Forum friends on the Toolernet.
The Empire Overseer’s George and Bonzo were very happy with the great gift given to the Garage Empire
and the Miscellaneous’s lived happily ever after nestled away in their own drawer.
THE END
NO ROOM AT THE TOOLBOX INN
Written by John J. Hurley
This is a story as old as time itself but true just the same. Yes the story of a group of Tools with no place to rest. We’ll call them the Miscellaneous’s.
For as much as the Miscellaneous’s wanted to be like the rest of the tools in the “Garage Empire” it wasn’t to be as the Toolbox Inn was full with no room in the drawers for the Miscellaneous’s to settle. Even the Lodges and motels surrounding the Inn had no vacancies. Oh the poor Miscellaneous’s, they traveled to the far ends of the garage to find shelter but to no avail. They were destined to spend their lives homeless, with no drawer to call their own. This made George and his son Bonzo Overseer’s of the Empire very sad indeed.
Yes, the Miscellaneous’s were very fortunate that the weather in the “Garage Empire” was always comfortable never too hot or too cold thanks to the Climate God “Ramsond”. And even though they had access to the big entertainment tube in the sky to amuse them they still spent their days being forced to move from one work bench to another, as vagrants were frowned upon by the OCD diagnosed King of “Garage Empire” King John.
Then one day a very wise man from a town far far away called “Ranger Productsville” came to the “Garage Empire” bearing a great gift. He knew of the plight of the Miscellaneous’s and all the other homeless tools in the “Garage Empire” and was deeply touched. In front of the entire Empire he raised his arms and proclaimed “No tool shall be without Shelter” And with that he waved his rawhide tool belt in the air and with the help of the Ranger Productsville Town Storage Committee he constructed the “Ranger Productsville sponsored “Tool Chest Inn.” painted a brilliant Red for all the Empire to see. It was over 11 stories high with 21 rooms to accommodate the homeless tools in the heart of the Garage Empire. Well the Empire was very grateful for this wonderful act of kindness by the wise man and the Ranger Productsville Town So they proclaimed to spread the word of their great gift throughout all of ToolLand by means of Traveling Tool Satchel’s and Tool Carts and of course telling all their Garage Forum friends on the Toolernet. The Empire Overseer’s George and Bonzo were very happy with the great gift given to the Garage Empire and the Miscellaneous’s lived happily ever after nestled away in their own drawer.
THE END
Written by John J. Hurley (to read without picture please go to the bottom of the post)
This is a story as old as time itself but true just the same. Yes the story of a group of Tools with no place to rest. We’ll call them the Miscellaneous’s.
For as much as the Miscellaneous’s wanted to be like the rest of the tools in the “Garage Empire” it wasn’t to be as the Toolbox Inn was full with no room in the drawers for the Miscellaneous’s to settle.
Even the Lodges and motels surrounding the Inn had no vacancies.
Oh the poor Miscellaneous’s, they traveled to the far ends of the garage to find shelter but to no avail. They were destined to spend their lives homeless, with no drawer to call their own.This made George and his son Bonzo Overseer’s of the Empire very sad indeed.
Yes, the Miscellaneous’s were very fortunate that the weather in the “Garage Empire” was always comfortable never too hot or too cold thanks to the Climate God “Ramsond”.
And even though they had access to the big entertainment tube in the sky to amuse them
they still spent their days being forced to move from one work bench to another, as vagrants were frowned upon by the OCD diagnosed King of “Garage Empire” King John.
Then one day a very wise man from a town far far away called “Ranger Productsville” came to the “Garage Empire” bearing a great gift. He knew of the plight of the Miscellaneous’s and all the other homeless tools in the “Garage Empire” and was deeply touched. In front of the entire Empire he raised his arms and proclaimed “No tool shall be without Shelter” And with that he waved his tool belt in the air and with the help of the Ranger Productsville Town Storage Committee he constructed the “Ranger Productsville sponsored “Tool Chest Inn.” painted a brilliant Red for all the Empire to see. It was over 11 stories high with 21 rooms to accommodate the homeless tools in the heart of the Garage Empire.
Well the Empire was very grateful for this wonderful act of kindness by the wise man and the Ranger Productsville Town So they proclaimed to spread the word of their great gift throughout all of ToolLand by means of Traveling Tool Satchel’s and Tool Carts
and of course telling all their Garage Forum friends on the Toolernet.
The Empire Overseer’s George and Bonzo were very happy with the great gift given to the Garage Empire
and the Miscellaneous’s lived happily ever after nestled away in their own drawer.
THE END
NO ROOM AT THE TOOLBOX INN
Written by John J. Hurley
This is a story as old as time itself but true just the same. Yes the story of a group of Tools with no place to rest. We’ll call them the Miscellaneous’s.
For as much as the Miscellaneous’s wanted to be like the rest of the tools in the “Garage Empire” it wasn’t to be as the Toolbox Inn was full with no room in the drawers for the Miscellaneous’s to settle. Even the Lodges and motels surrounding the Inn had no vacancies. Oh the poor Miscellaneous’s, they traveled to the far ends of the garage to find shelter but to no avail. They were destined to spend their lives homeless, with no drawer to call their own. This made George and his son Bonzo Overseer’s of the Empire very sad indeed.
Yes, the Miscellaneous’s were very fortunate that the weather in the “Garage Empire” was always comfortable never too hot or too cold thanks to the Climate God “Ramsond”. And even though they had access to the big entertainment tube in the sky to amuse them they still spent their days being forced to move from one work bench to another, as vagrants were frowned upon by the OCD diagnosed King of “Garage Empire” King John.
Then one day a very wise man from a town far far away called “Ranger Productsville” came to the “Garage Empire” bearing a great gift. He knew of the plight of the Miscellaneous’s and all the other homeless tools in the “Garage Empire” and was deeply touched. In front of the entire Empire he raised his arms and proclaimed “No tool shall be without Shelter” And with that he waved his rawhide tool belt in the air and with the help of the Ranger Productsville Town Storage Committee he constructed the “Ranger Productsville sponsored “Tool Chest Inn.” painted a brilliant Red for all the Empire to see. It was over 11 stories high with 21 rooms to accommodate the homeless tools in the heart of the Garage Empire. Well the Empire was very grateful for this wonderful act of kindness by the wise man and the Ranger Productsville Town So they proclaimed to spread the word of their great gift throughout all of ToolLand by means of Traveling Tool Satchel’s and Tool Carts and of course telling all their Garage Forum friends on the Toolernet. The Empire Overseer’s George and Bonzo were very happy with the great gift given to the Garage Empire and the Miscellaneous’s lived happily ever after nestled away in their own drawer.
THE END
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Lookin4'67Galaxieconv
Well-known member
The sockets laid wide
Nice and new
Thirty astride
My what a view
The ratchets were shiny
Chromed and bright
All shapes and sizes
Built to last many nights
The wrenches were next
And oh what a sight
I clutched at my chest
As it became tight
Breaker bars and vise clamps
Drill bits and pliers
Air drills and impacts
Extensions and screwdrivers
All these tools
And nowhere to go
All these tools
Without a home
Nice and new
Thirty astride
My what a view
The ratchets were shiny
Chromed and bright
All shapes and sizes
Built to last many nights
The wrenches were next
And oh what a sight
I clutched at my chest
As it became tight
Breaker bars and vise clamps
Drill bits and pliers
Air drills and impacts
Extensions and screwdrivers
All these tools
And nowhere to go
All these tools
Without a home
Vicious_Cycle
Well-known member
Holy Cats, am I glad I found this thread when I did… the timing couldn’t be more perfect! Sit back and enjoy the story about how my week started, a woman named Mrs. Nardini, and her automotive masterpiece. Mrs. Nardini is a customer at the two-man garage where I work alongside the owner, Norm (that’s Stormin’ Norman to you) Merlini.
Mrs. Nardini is difficult to describe, but maybe some of you guys can relate. Have you ever encountered a woman that you just want to hug and kiss the second you lay eyes on her? An absolute stunning beauty whom is even sweeter than she is gorgeous? Well Mrs. Nardini is the exact opposite of that. Smelly greasy hair that’s almost always up in curlers (think about that for a second) and a hair net whenever she comes into the shop. Always mad at the world, perpetually broke, and unable to feign civility even while she asks for yet another favor. What she lacks in height she makes up for in girth. She’s all that and more; she’s definitely our least favorite customer.
The automotive equivalent of this evil wretch, not surprisingly, is her car. It’s a Forest Green ‘73 Impala two-door (well, one and seven-eighths door, if you consider the rust) with one hubcap, a dangling side view mirror that has scraped an arc into what’s left of the paint, four bald mismatched tires, and a cracked… well, you get the idea. It’s a turd. I call it The Rolling Scab because the vinyl top was torn off eons ago, and all that remains is this abrasive brownish rusty mess of dried up adhesive, dirt, and the occasional thread that kind of looks like a hair. Very scabbish.
Now, this recession has been killing us at the shop since before Christmas. April picked up a little bit, which I attribute to people getting their tax returns, but otherwise business has been brutal. It seems that people are putting off all scheduled maintenance and even some of the more necessary repairs as well. If their car starts when they turn the key and more or less stops when they hit the brakes, people are avoiding auto repair bills at all costs lately. Well this is nothing new for Mrs. Nardini. She has perfected this Lack of Maintenance Program into an art form over the past 30 years. But I digress.
Eight o’clock Monday morning. It’s raining outside, and I can tell by the sour look on Stormin’ Norman’s face that it is indeed one Mrs. Nardini clucking at him through the phone line. Sounds like The Scab ate another starter. Great. Minutes later, I’m in the old Chevy wrecker, headed over to Casa Nardini (don’t get me started) to tow the Rolling Scab back to the shop. I hate Mondays. Well, at least I didn’t have to give Mrs. Nardini a ride in the wrecker, like last time she got stranded. That was awful! Back at the shop, Norm has another car up on the lift, so I dropped this one around back, to be worked on later, after we’re finished with the, ahem, paying customers’ cars.
Two o’clock, Norm tells me to hook up to The Scab and back it onto the lift in the high bay. “The lift” is an old in-ground center-post air over hydraulic drive-on lift that dates back to, I don’t know- the Fifties? Forties maybe? Regardless… this thing is hammered. Whatever devices the lift used to have for stopping you from driving off the front are long gone. In their place are two stacks of two-by-fours anchored to the rack by four lengths of half-inch threaded rod. I think that was one of Norm’s brainstorms. The ramp pieces at the other end that you drive up on are still there, but they no longer pivot down and chock the car in place like they were designed to do. And the rod that keeps the lift from rotating like a turntable is also long gone. OSHA would be horrified.
I hooked up the front of the Scab to the sling and, since it was still raining, I very hurriedly swung the driver’s door open, turned the key, slapped it into Neutral, and made a mad dash back to the cab of the truck. Hopped in and backed her straight up onto the lift, first try. As I set the parking brake and climbed back out of the truck, Norm had already popped the Scab’s hood and was getting ready to hook up the battery charger. That’s the great thing about working together all these years- I know what he’s thinking, and vice versa. We’re a pretty good team. We could do just about any size job together, quickly, without saying a word to each other. So I dropped the front-end, tossed the hooks onto the truck bed, and pulled back out of the shop, Norm closing the garage door behind me.
By the time I got back into the garage, Norm had the Scab up in the air. I handed him a trouble light as he stepped under the lift and sized up whether or not he could access the solenoid. He had left the battery connected so he could bypass the solenoid, thereby quickly testing the starter. And that’s when my bad Monday turned into a really bad Monday!
Oh wait- flashback here- If you turn the key to the Start position and there is absolute silence, what do you do? Well, if you’re Mrs. Nardini, you pump the gas pedal eighteen thousand times and try again, as if that might fix the starter! Okay, end of flashback. So Norm uses a small screwdriver to bypass the solenoid, and the Scab instantly ROARS to life and absolutely hauls *** straight off the back of the lift,
smashing straight through the garage door and landing nose first on the concrete below. It’s practically standing on the front bumper, the front end is bent like a big U, the rear of the car is hung up on the lift, the rear wheels are spinning like mad, the engine is screaming, the hood is bent backward over the roof, glass is raining down from what’s left of the garage door, and we are freakin’ out! Total insanity. 
After Norm frantically climbed over the rubble, reached in and turned the ignition off, we stopped to collect ourselves and figure out what the hell had just happened.
Turns out, when I had turned the key so I could take it out of Park, I unwittingly turned it to the Run position. When I meant to put it Neutral, I apparently bumped it down into Drive instead (hey, it was raining… I was in a hurry). And that part about me and Norm knowing what each other was doing? Not so much. I thought he had put it in Park while I was lowering the front end onto the lift. He usually does, even though technically, it would be my job. So a series of flukes has put me into a real dangerous –not to mention expensive- situation. Leave it to me to do $5000 damage to a $200 pile of junk!
Then it got worse. We still had to lower the back of the car down to the ground. And with a ton or so of weight still on the very back end of the lift and none on the front, the post was cocked and would not BUDGE, despite my having let most of the air out of the system. Clearly, we needed weight on the front of the lift. I got the step ladder out and climbed up onto the front of the lift. No dice; my scrawny 160 lb *** was no match for The Scab. I jumped up and down. Nothing. So Norm wheels my Craftsman combination tool box over next to the ladder and starts handing tools up to me. Impacts, socket sets, wrench sets, channel locks, mallets… you name it. My tool box was basically emptied and the lift still had not budged. I got another bright idea. Norm tied a rope around the tire machine, handed me the other end of the rope, and I pulled with all my might.
It worked! Sort of. Remember how this lift is prone to rotating like a turntable? Remember my tool box? Yeah. The lift dropped about three feet, only after rotating above my top box. Adding insult to injury, the lift pogoed a few times, BAM! BAM! BAM!!!, pummeling my poor toolbox into submission. It’s now a short little crumpled kind of V-shapped mass of twisted metal. On the bright side, it will now easily fit into the Scab’s trunk when I tow it to the scrap yard, which will save me a trip…
So that is why I really really REALLY need about 21 drawers’ worth of Superwide Ranger Excellence! And if there’s any room left on the truck, I could use a BendPak XPR-18C while you’re at it. I think it’s time!
And hey, things are looking up already: I haven’t seen Mrs. Nardini since Monday. I think she’s pissed… imagine that!
Mrs. Nardini is difficult to describe, but maybe some of you guys can relate. Have you ever encountered a woman that you just want to hug and kiss the second you lay eyes on her? An absolute stunning beauty whom is even sweeter than she is gorgeous? Well Mrs. Nardini is the exact opposite of that. Smelly greasy hair that’s almost always up in curlers (think about that for a second) and a hair net whenever she comes into the shop. Always mad at the world, perpetually broke, and unable to feign civility even while she asks for yet another favor. What she lacks in height she makes up for in girth. She’s all that and more; she’s definitely our least favorite customer.
The automotive equivalent of this evil wretch, not surprisingly, is her car. It’s a Forest Green ‘73 Impala two-door (well, one and seven-eighths door, if you consider the rust) with one hubcap, a dangling side view mirror that has scraped an arc into what’s left of the paint, four bald mismatched tires, and a cracked… well, you get the idea. It’s a turd. I call it The Rolling Scab because the vinyl top was torn off eons ago, and all that remains is this abrasive brownish rusty mess of dried up adhesive, dirt, and the occasional thread that kind of looks like a hair. Very scabbish.
Now, this recession has been killing us at the shop since before Christmas. April picked up a little bit, which I attribute to people getting their tax returns, but otherwise business has been brutal. It seems that people are putting off all scheduled maintenance and even some of the more necessary repairs as well. If their car starts when they turn the key and more or less stops when they hit the brakes, people are avoiding auto repair bills at all costs lately. Well this is nothing new for Mrs. Nardini. She has perfected this Lack of Maintenance Program into an art form over the past 30 years. But I digress.
Eight o’clock Monday morning. It’s raining outside, and I can tell by the sour look on Stormin’ Norman’s face that it is indeed one Mrs. Nardini clucking at him through the phone line. Sounds like The Scab ate another starter. Great. Minutes later, I’m in the old Chevy wrecker, headed over to Casa Nardini (don’t get me started) to tow the Rolling Scab back to the shop. I hate Mondays. Well, at least I didn’t have to give Mrs. Nardini a ride in the wrecker, like last time she got stranded. That was awful! Back at the shop, Norm has another car up on the lift, so I dropped this one around back, to be worked on later, after we’re finished with the, ahem, paying customers’ cars.
Two o’clock, Norm tells me to hook up to The Scab and back it onto the lift in the high bay. “The lift” is an old in-ground center-post air over hydraulic drive-on lift that dates back to, I don’t know- the Fifties? Forties maybe? Regardless… this thing is hammered. Whatever devices the lift used to have for stopping you from driving off the front are long gone. In their place are two stacks of two-by-fours anchored to the rack by four lengths of half-inch threaded rod. I think that was one of Norm’s brainstorms. The ramp pieces at the other end that you drive up on are still there, but they no longer pivot down and chock the car in place like they were designed to do. And the rod that keeps the lift from rotating like a turntable is also long gone. OSHA would be horrified.
I hooked up the front of the Scab to the sling and, since it was still raining, I very hurriedly swung the driver’s door open, turned the key, slapped it into Neutral, and made a mad dash back to the cab of the truck. Hopped in and backed her straight up onto the lift, first try. As I set the parking brake and climbed back out of the truck, Norm had already popped the Scab’s hood and was getting ready to hook up the battery charger. That’s the great thing about working together all these years- I know what he’s thinking, and vice versa. We’re a pretty good team. We could do just about any size job together, quickly, without saying a word to each other. So I dropped the front-end, tossed the hooks onto the truck bed, and pulled back out of the shop, Norm closing the garage door behind me.
By the time I got back into the garage, Norm had the Scab up in the air. I handed him a trouble light as he stepped under the lift and sized up whether or not he could access the solenoid. He had left the battery connected so he could bypass the solenoid, thereby quickly testing the starter. And that’s when my bad Monday turned into a really bad Monday!
Oh wait- flashback here- If you turn the key to the Start position and there is absolute silence, what do you do? Well, if you’re Mrs. Nardini, you pump the gas pedal eighteen thousand times and try again, as if that might fix the starter! Okay, end of flashback. So Norm uses a small screwdriver to bypass the solenoid, and the Scab instantly ROARS to life and absolutely hauls *** straight off the back of the lift,
smashing straight through the garage door and landing nose first on the concrete below. It’s practically standing on the front bumper, the front end is bent like a big U, the rear of the car is hung up on the lift, the rear wheels are spinning like mad, the engine is screaming, the hood is bent backward over the roof, glass is raining down from what’s left of the garage door, and we are freakin’ out! Total insanity. After Norm frantically climbed over the rubble, reached in and turned the ignition off, we stopped to collect ourselves and figure out what the hell had just happened.Turns out, when I had turned the key so I could take it out of Park, I unwittingly turned it to the Run position. When I meant to put it Neutral, I apparently bumped it down into Drive instead (hey, it was raining… I was in a hurry). And that part about me and Norm knowing what each other was doing? Not so much. I thought he had put it in Park while I was lowering the front end onto the lift. He usually does, even though technically, it would be my job. So a series of flukes has put me into a real dangerous –not to mention expensive- situation. Leave it to me to do $5000 damage to a $200 pile of junk!
Then it got worse. We still had to lower the back of the car down to the ground. And with a ton or so of weight still on the very back end of the lift and none on the front, the post was cocked and would not BUDGE, despite my having let most of the air out of the system. Clearly, we needed weight on the front of the lift. I got the step ladder out and climbed up onto the front of the lift. No dice; my scrawny 160 lb *** was no match for The Scab. I jumped up and down. Nothing. So Norm wheels my Craftsman combination tool box over next to the ladder and starts handing tools up to me. Impacts, socket sets, wrench sets, channel locks, mallets… you name it. My tool box was basically emptied and the lift still had not budged. I got another bright idea. Norm tied a rope around the tire machine, handed me the other end of the rope, and I pulled with all my might.
It worked! Sort of. Remember how this lift is prone to rotating like a turntable? Remember my tool box? Yeah. The lift dropped about three feet, only after rotating above my top box. Adding insult to injury, the lift pogoed a few times, BAM! BAM! BAM!!!, pummeling my poor toolbox into submission. It’s now a short little crumpled kind of V-shapped mass of twisted metal. On the bright side, it will now easily fit into the Scab’s trunk when I tow it to the scrap yard, which will save me a trip…
So that is why I really really REALLY need about 21 drawers’ worth of Superwide Ranger Excellence! And if there’s any room left on the truck, I could use a BendPak XPR-18C while you’re at it.
I think it’s time! And hey, things are looking up already: I haven’t seen Mrs. Nardini since Monday. I think she’s pissed… imagine that!