Page 2 of Lady Luck's Kiss
Moving to the other side, she proceeded to do the same routine. Loosen the wheels, set the lugs and rotate the tires. Reinstalling the tires in the new location, she measured the brake pads carefully and saw that they still had five millimeters remaining. No sales there. He was about halfway through his brake pad life as a new pad came with ten millimeters ofthickness. Giving Carl a thumb up, she proceeded to tighten the lugs with her impact, leaving room to torque them properly.
Popping her impact gun off the hose, she gave a mighty yank, allowing the hose to fall freely from her hands as it drew back into the ceiling onto the reel. Picking up her torque wrench, she calibrated the digital screen and set each lug into place.
Charlie replaced the oil pan bolt and sealed it with a big dollop of yellow paste, shoving the tall oil drain roll-around to the side so it was clear of the car when she lowered it. She always marked the drain plugs and oil filters after someone blamed her for them running out of oil. Her uncle had done it before and she did, too. It had saved her butt more than once in the past. Charlie walked to the side of the lift and gave the large lever a pull, allowing the car to lower slowly out of the air.
Pulling her Sharpie from her coverall pocket, she drew a smiley face on the bottom of the new oil filter and put her initials on it. She never revealed why, and she was positive they thought it was some “dumb move” on her part, but seeing a marked filter let her know they had been to her shop before. Popping the hood on the car, Charlie placed a new sticker in the windshield and moved to top off the fluids. She pulled off the old filter and grinned.
This month was smiley faces, but in January it was snowflakes as she saw the black Sharpie snowflake on the filter fascia that was now filthy from dirt and debris. Tossing the filter into the environmental bin, she lubed the gasket and tightened it with her wrench, the smiley face peering up at her from the engine compartment.Perhaps next month would be pencils for back to school,she thought.
Flicking on her Maglite, she looked over the entire engine compartment and saw there were no leaks.Good, she thought and gave her customer another thumbs up towards the windowglass without looking up. Giving a twist to the serpentine belt, she saw it was also in good shape.
Grabbing several quarts of oil, she began to fill the motor. After adding five quarts, Charlie started up the car. Peering quickly underneath, she saw no leaks from the drain plug. Pulling the dipstick, she wiped it down and reinserted it. Waiting a few moments, she pulled it again and saw the oil level was midway in the hash marks as designed.
Shutting the hood firmly, she went to give Carl the evaluation on the car and the bill.
There was always a noticeable difference on how she was treated based off how she dressed. While most times she didn’t mind, occasionally it bothered her, like this time. Charlie handed the bill to Carl and automatically stuck out her hand towards him in an effort to thank him for the business.
At his pointed look, she realized she still had her gloves on. With a grin, she yanked the filthy latex gloves off and stuck out her hand again. This time, he smiled apologetically and explained that they were headed to dinner.
Nodding, Charlie felt a blush creep up her neck as she hid her hands behind her. Yes, they were dirty. They were actually filthy compared to his, if she was honest with herself. Her hands were evidence of an independent woman working on a job he’d just hired her to do, but she understood. Who wanted dirt, grease or debris on them? He paid her for this and preferred not to get his hands in the muck.
“Of course,” she answered and rang up his bill with a false smile. “Thank you for coming in, Carl, and be sure to tell your wife I said hello.”
“Absolutely,” he said to Charlie as he swiped his credit card absently. Charlie gave him his copy of the receipt and flipped off the open switch in the window. “I will pull your car out of the shop and bring it around front for you,” she offered. Seeing hisnod, she waited for him to walk out the front door and set the deadbolt after him. Walking through the room, she entered the shop and backed his car out. Handing Carl the keys, she waved as he pulled away.
Charlie stood there a moment, as the warm breeze tickled her neck. Streaks of orange were beginning to show up on the horizon as it would be dark soon. Heading back inside of the large, open garage door, she yanked on the rope bringing the door down. She slid the lock into place and walked back to the Camaro.
“It’s you and me tonight,” she said aloud and turned on her radio that was perched on the wall. Picking up where she left off, she continued to clean up the engine compartment to prepare for the first start up. As Charlie worked, she sang aloud to the variety of songs, glad there was no one in the waiting area to view her having fun. The Camaro was in the air once again but, this time, it was to change the oil that had been contaminated by the head gasket repair.
Holding her shiny torque wrench, she belted out lyrics to Duran Duran’sHungry Like the Wolfas she watched the oil drain from the car. As the song wrapped up, she glanced outside the glass doors to see the sun had set and it was pitch black outside now except for the small glow coming from her sign at the street.
The deejay announced on the radio a contest for tickets to be given away and Charlie only listened haphazardly as she carefully set the oil level. Too little could cause engine damage, too much would cause pressure on the gaskets resulting in a leak. Unfortunately for her, there were few books about the Camaro available and she had bought what she could from eBay. The rest was learned slowly over time during the last few years.
“Looking for caller ten that can answer this week’s question: What was the 1969 Indianapolis pace car? Caller ten will win a set of tickets to this week’s event and a cash prize.”
Charlotte grinned as she poured the last quart in and heard a few answers blare out over the radio. She wasn’t sure what the tickets were for but, apparently, they were good tickets! She picked up the phone and dialed, getting a busy signal. Hitting redial, she got another busy signal.
Charlotte hit redial once again and was surprised to hear it ringing on the other end of the line. Heart thumping, she heard a voice answer.
“You’re on the air! What’s your name?
“Charlotte,” she squeaked, shocked she had gotten through the line. Normally, she never even tried to enter contests because she swore that if she didn’t have bad luck, she would have no luck at all. Charlotte could not win a frozen turkey if her life depended on it.
“Charlotte, what car was the 1969 Indy pace car that year?”
“A Camaro.”
“That’s right! You got the tickets and prize, care to double it?” he challenged.
“Do I lose it if I miss the question?” she asked bluntly, knowing her luck.
“Nah,” he said drawing out the response. “But you could earn more.”
“Sure, how do I double it?” she asked accordingly.
“What color was the car?” he intoned and heard feedback. “Charlotte, turn down your radio in the background.”
She grabbed the knob and obliged as she was stunned by the simple question. The books she had ordered, one cover showed the Indy pace car on the front and that was how she had known the answer.
