Nothing makes me more sure I could have been the greatest mechanic that ever lived than filling up the windscreen washers without spilling a drop

I picture my bustling my busy local garage where everyone in town trusts me, as I gently close the bonnet over all the bits of the “engine” that are not the windscreen wash tank and so are irrelevant

Come On Eileen is blasting out of a stereo as I’m there on one of those lying down skateboards that you use to check the bottom is still on the car

I wipe my hands on a filthy rag and nod at a car in the corner with a trustworthy smile, “just filled that little lady with the old blue stuff this morning”

I’d have a calendar on the wall of topless football managers but nobody minds because at my garage it’s like stepping back in time

“It’s rattling” says a customer.
I nod, hearing the rattle.
“That’ll be the car’s burretta.” I assure her, “they’re pricey.”
Her face falls, she’s thinking of her hungry kids at home.
“Let me see what I can do though.” I say, looking at my loosey tighty tool

“They’re submissive, that’s good.” I say, as the tyres sit still despite me giving them a good kicking

When I did an oil change for someone, I’d always sub in extra virgin and they’d never know why their car’s heart was healthier. But I’d know.

A man is stood before me, frowning. “It drives well,” he says, looking at the Fiat, “But since I bought it I just haven’t been enjoying my John Grisham novels as much.”
“Ah, I see.” I say, nodding, “That’s because your suspensions gone.”

“Well the summer tyres will last a bit longer typically, but the winter tyres have these cute little scarves.”

“It could be the clutch.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, it’s really not big enough to fit my purse and keys in.”

I’d always wear a funny little cute hat to keep my hair out of my eyes and then I’d whenever I got started on someone’s car I’d say “let’s take a look under the bonnet” and id whip the hat off and then we’d laugh