At the Starbucks. After a couple hours and some Internet based review of the word “death wobble”.
Ring ring…
Me: “Curmudgeon speaking. If you’re a telemarketer prepare to die.”
Mechanic: “I checked your truck. It’s ‘death wobble’. You need to replace some parts on the front end. It’s not that bad.”
Me: “Are you shitting me? I think the fillings on my teeth exploded.”
Mechanic: “Yeah, the vibration can be a little shocking.”
Me: “Uh huh, and World War II was ‘a little unpleasant’. Did the ball joints vaporize?”
Mechanic: “One side, they’re out of spec. That’s part of it. Some other stuff. Problem is the parts. Won’t have parts until tomorrow. You can try to limp home…”
Me: “I live in a different time zone. Did I mention that the vibration was so sudden and complete that it made me question my relationship to reality and the nature of matter?”
Mechanic: “I can get on it first thing tomorrow. It’ll cost xxxxxxxxx (redacted).”
Me: “Usually I’d flake. I’m a cheapskate… but after that…”
Mechanic: “I’ll order the parts?”
Me: “Yeah, and I see a hotel a couple blocks away. See ya’ tomorrow.”
Mechanic: “It’s safe to drive that far.”
Me: “Thanks but…”
Mechanic: “That wild eh?”
Me: “After this is fixed I’m going to find the engineer that designed my truck’s steering geometry and set fire to his mailbox. In the meantime… thanks.”