The ‘Check Oil Light’ Caper

The ‘Check Oil’ light caper happened last night. When I parked my car at home, I noticed the Check Oil light was on. I don’t have auto oil at my house, so this morning I call Donna at my service station. “Bring it in after lunch,” she says, thankfully. Whatever’s going on with that oil light, since it’s only 400 miles until the next change is due, I ask if they’ll change the oil when they check the light. It’s an early Friday afternoon, the end of the week for the mechanics and it’s pretty quiet and calm in there.

As I sit, masked and reading while I wait, more and more people begin to come in. I notice the owner’s wife, Diane, always very pleasant and helpful, is short and clipped as she’s talking. One of the mechanics says she’s not having a good day. By the time the clock is closing in on 3pm, an hour before they close the shop, six customers stand in line, one with a flat tire, another two who need inspections, and other immediate concerns.

I go to this small country auto service station, The Afton Service Center, because they’re an integral part of this rural community. I love seeing the people coming in and hearing the country conversation. Plus they do good work. Apparently, many others feel the same.

When I hear a man ask for an inspection, I remember mine expires in four days. I ask my mechanic if he can do one today. “I’ll take care of it,” he tells me. Half an hour later, my car is ready. “By the way, it didn’t need an oil change. The oil was 60% clean.”

I say, “I wonder why the oil light went on then.”

“Maybe the oil was low, I didn’t check that,” he says. “As soon as I finish the car behind you, I’ll get you right out.”

Great, I say. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls the car in front of the shop. Donna calls me to the counter. I tell her the car didn’t need an oil change. I’m puzzled. She shrugs, “I don’t know much about cars, either,” she says as she processes my payment. She smiles and wishes me a good day.

I go out to the car and drive to one of the BP gas tanks. I’m driving on fumes. As I turn the ignition on, I notice the check oil light is still on. I walk back to the garage and tell my mechanic. He frowns, follows me to the car, and slides in. “That’s not the oil light,” he tells me, “that’s the check engine light.” His words hang in the air as I stare at him, suddenly understanding why the car didn’t have an oil problem. “My error,” I admit, then, “but did you check why the check engine is on?”

“No,” he says politely as I begin to suspect he’s ready to throttle me.

“Can you, please? It’s never come on before.” Wordlessly, he stares at me. I look at the line of cars waiting for service then look at him. “If I knew it was safe to drive, I’d come back Monday,” I say.

He nods, walks away and returns with a black instrument about 12” square, slides back into the front seat, plugs it in and reads. “It says your gas cap is loose.” I roll my eyes and remember putting some gas in the tank last night from the lawn mower gas container because the car was nearly empty when I got home. I must not have fastened it right.

“I’m very sorry for taking all this time when you’re so busy,” I tell him. “I’ll just run in and pay for this, get my gas, and get out of your way so you can get some real work accomplished.” Sheepishly I go inside to tell Donna what was wrong and apologize to her. I’ve been their customer for nearly a decade and they know me well. She smiles and says, “No charge, you’re fine,” and waves her hand at me in a go-away motion.

I wish Donna and Diane a peaceful weekend. They both smile at me. Oh, good, Diane’s in a better mood. “Okay, I’m going to get the hell out of your hair now.” They’re both laughing uproariously as I push open the door. They’ve never heard me swear before. “Bye, now.”

I’d left my car at the gas pump. I slide my credit card in and tap the “Rewards“ button. It tells me I’ve spent enough money on groceries so that my price is 20 cents off. Do I want to use it? I push the “yes” button. The screen tells me to pick up the pump handle and push the grade button. I push low grade for $1.85 a gallon, reach into the car and push the button to open the gas cover. I walk back and see I’ve opened my trunk. A big guy behind me is filling his tank and he grins at me. I roll my eyes. He says, “I do that all the time.” “Me, too,” I admit.

 I close the trunk and go to push the correct button to release the gas cover. It opens and I look at the pump. Now I realize that earlier, when I noticed the “oil” light was still on, I didn’t pull up close enough to pump gas. I look back at the guy behind me. He’s finished his fill and walking into the store. Now I’ll never know if he also ever parked not close enough. Oh, well.

I place the pump handle down carefully on the cement and move my car forward about a foot, get out, and return to the pump. The pump screen has reverted back to “Welcome, Valued Customer.” All the data I’ve entered has disappeared. After fiddling with a few buttons without results, I figure I’d better return to the office to see how I can bring it back or start over. I don’t want to go back in, but I don’t want to lose that 20 cents per gallon discount, either.

Inside the store again, I stand in front of Donna and sigh heavily. She looks at me with her eyes enlarging in question.

“Donna, I’m not having my best day.” She raises her eyebrows as I explain what has happened at the pump.

“Well, let’s see what I can do,” she says as she rushes around the counter, leaving 3 customers behind. I trail after her forlornly.

Quickly, Donna pushes one button after another and retrieves each piece of information I’d entered. She smiles a big smile, “It’s all there. Just pick up the pump, pick the grade you want, and you’re all set.”

“So, go and have a good day,” she calls out over her shoulder with a big smile.

I follow her directions seamlessly, grab my receipt, fasten the gas cap tighter than ever before, and jump in my car to get away. My faux pas‘ have all been unwitting but there have been so many today! The last thing I ever want to be is a high-maintenance customer. Or mom or friend or anything else. Yet, with my ninth decade not too far away, I find I’m having more and more of these days. I take a long nap when I get home, then write this story. “This is my life now,” I say to the mirror or anyone nearby. “I’m trying to do it as gracefully as possible.”

And then my hand rises suddenly to cover my mouth. Oh, Crikey!

I’ve just remembered that the Check Engine light went on a few years ago. The reason? I’ll bet you can guess.

Well, at least the car needed the inspection. And the gas tank is full. And Donna, Diane, and my mechanic will greet me with a smile the next time I go in.