I got a good laugh yesterday at my own expense (which makes for cheap entertainment). The engine in my dear, paid for car ran hot all the way up to work. A little distressing, considering the temperature always sits at just below midway. Since I was already late, (so much for doing a good turn daily), I slowed down and hoped that whatever was "wrong" would wait until I had a lunch break before changing status to "REEEEEly Wrong". My dad raised his girls to be self sufficient in terms of basic car care and maintenance. Granted, you probably won't find me under the hood on a week night, wearing grubby coveralls that say "Lou" on the pocket, but I can determine if fluids need to be topped off.
Plan A was to run to Autozone up on 44th, grab a gallon of coolant, top of the reservoir, and coast home in (cooler) style. News to me: Unless AZ is actually located on South "Forty-ninth and Three-Quarters", Dex lied to me. It's not there. And I truly did not have time to get pulled over for dragging State in front of a hospital and a high school. Can you see it now: "Honest, Officer, I was just making sure that Autozone was right where I left it...." Plan B involved the next Sinclair station. I slid into a parking spot in front of the store, paid for the coolant and cheap paper funnel, and confidently popped the hood. "This is CAKE!" I thought. "Dad will be so proud." Even the guy in the pickup next to me seemed surprised to see a woman doing this without masculine aid. As I filled the reservoir, I was mildly alarmed that the level had gotten so low; I nearly emptied the container. Still believing that I'd single-handedly saved my car, I mashed the cap back on and headed to the trash can.
'Twas then I realized I had just filled the wiper fluid reservoir.
