Engine Lights

I was driving the other day when, all of a sudden, it happened.

Yep, the dreaded “check engine” light. 

But the car was running normal, so I did what any normal guy would do.  I stuck a post-it note over it, and did my best to ignore it.

A long time ago, even before Michael Jackson’s first surgery, Man took two divergent evolutionary paths.  Those of the mechanically inclined. And the rest of us.

Mechanics (subspecies Homo Goodwrenchious Sapiens) not only own tools, but know how to use them. They don’t panic or go into denial mode when the engine thumps instead of ticks.  Their houses are full of appliances and stuff from twenty years ago that still work, because they know how to fix them. A minor subsection of humanity, a mechanic would rather fix something than throw it away, as a prudent, normal, refuse-to-ask-directions or read instructions sort of guy will do.

There’s an insidious reason for this un-Guylike behavior. 

They aren’t guys!

Think about it.  Mechanics read … gasp!… instruction manuals!

Do you hear me?!!!

Not only that, but they actually understand what they read! 

They wear special gunk-resistant clothes, and gird themselves with weird belts.  They know the secrets for getting grease out from under their fingernails, and don’t have to brush up on first aid before operating a power tool. They know that a catalytic converter isn’t a kind of Lazy Boy, and there aren’t any golf clubs in their toolboxes.

In other words, they are freaks.

I’m glad I’m not one of them.

I’m normal. 

Well, um, normal, for a guy.

I’m no crank head. Nope, not me.

Back in high school, while all the mechanics were in shop tearing down transmissions, I was shooting hoops or hanging with other non-mechanics, watching cheerleader practices.  When mechanics were out testing their new small-block engines, I was watching NFL football, cutting the grass, or riding my bike.  In other words, while they were learning how things work, I,  … uh, …wasn’t.

The bottom line? I don’t know a darned thing about how things work.

But when my check engine light came on did I panic? 

No way, I’m a guy.  I know that quite often these things will just fix themselves.  You just have to give it a chance.  And if you wait long enough, the bulb will burn out, right?

I remember the first time I got a ‘check engine’ light.  Stupid me, I did what it said.  I stopped the car, popped the hood, and checked the engine.  Yup, still there.  My job’s done, right? Anyway, a couple days later, the light went off by itself.  No harm, no foul.

I like warning lights that really mean something.  Oil lights, fuel warnings, seatbelt lights and the watch-it-your-kid-opened-the-damn-door warnings.  These are real, and they tell you something in easy to understand pictures.

Not the check engine light.  Its meaning is secretive and threatening.

Some kind of bizarre mechanic thing.

Scary stuff.

Best to ignore it.

copyright Norman Cowie