Our old, (1992)
Chevy pickup has been having problems lately. Like it's owners,
they're mostly age related problems. It sits in the driveway rusting
away most of the time these days, only getting used to haul trash to
the dump or to move things too large or too dirty or smelly for our
little Toyota wagon.
On the last
dump trip, after unloading the recycled items and dumping the rest,
the shift lever refused to go into Drive. I cussed and pushed on it
until it finally clunked in to gear. When we got home I found that I
couldn't shut the ignition switch off. I turned the key toward the
Start position and was rewarded with a grinding noise as the starter
tried to engage an already running engine, but at least then it let
me turn it off.
The same
problem came and went over several weeks while I tried to find out
how to fix it. The consensus I arrived at, mostly from the Internet,
was that the ignition lock cylinder needed to be replaced and that
required removing the steering wheel with a special wheel puller and
delving into the turn signal, windshield wiper and washer, cruise
control, headlight dimmer, and turn signal wiring just to get at the
thing. “A job for a Chevrolet mechanic, not me!” I reasoned.
The last
straw happened at JC's house when no matter how I jiggled or wiggled
the key the engine just kept running. I finally opened the hood,
climbed up on the radiator shroud, removed the air cleaner and pulled
the coil wire to shut it off. When I climbed down off of the engine
compartment, JC asked me, “Why don't you get that damned thing
fixed?”
“I guess
you're right,” I said, “I'm afraid the Chevy dealer will rip me
off, but I'm pretty sure from what I read on the Internet, that's
where I should take it. The thing is, I think that they charge thirty
or forty dollars an hour!”
“Get it
fixed, I've got a lot off stuff to haul to the dump!” he said,
“I'll even pay for it!”
The next
morning I called the Chevy dealer in Newport, told the service
manager the problem and made an appointment for the following day at
9 am.
JC followed
me to Newport and we dropped the truck off. The mechanic showed me
which fuse to pull, a much easier way to shut it off. We did some
shopping and drove home. I'd just walked in the door when the phone
rang and Carol handed it to me. It was the service manager who told
me,”We found your problem. You need a new ignition cylinder and the
canceling cam was completely crumbled. It will run about $400.00. Do
you want us to go ahead and fix it?
I started to
say OK, but then the $400 sunk in. “How much?” I sputtered. He
repeated the amount. “Holy Crap!” I said.
He waited in
silence while I thought about how much the truck saves us in monthly
trash pickup charges and how handy it is for hauling stuff, but on
the other hand is it really worth fixing...and what the hell is a
crumbled canceling cam?
Reluctantly
I said, “Yeah, go ahead.” I told him I'd pick it up in the
morning and hung up, shaking my head.
“What's
the matter? Carol asked from the kitchen.
“$400.00!”
I replied.
“Holy
Crap!” she said.
The next
morning I asked the service manager for an explanation of the bill.
He used his pen to point out the charges.
“Well, it
needed a new lock cylinder, and that was $46.70. The canceling cam, which was
crumbled, was $13.98 and it took the mechanic over three hours to do
the repairs. He looked at me as if that explained everything. I'm not
good at math, but as the wheels in my head slowly ground away, I
finally spurted “But that's a hundred dollars an hour!”
I suffered
through a detailed explanation about rising costs, yadda, yadda,
yadda, reluctantly signed the bottom of the statement and left, poorer budweiser.
