doodledee

The Saab died on me the other day. I was driving home after hitting a few after-Christmas doorbuster sales and the engine just bonked and stopped running. When it happened I had to weave around some traffic and coast over to the side of the road. No power steering or breaks or anything. It was all tremendously exciting.

After I parked I tried restarting a it couple of times but it was having none of it. Rerrrerrrerrrclick. Rerrrerrrerrrclick. Then I noticed some horrible engine type smells starting to filter into the cabin, which I took as a sign that I should give up. Merry Christmas to me.

Libby had taken it in for an oil change last week so I immediately figured they had screwed something up. Never mind the fact that the oil pressure light hadn't come on and the engine temp had stayed normal, I still popped the hood and had a look. Not smokey or anything, but definetly a little stinky. I grabbed the dipstick and pulled it out: it's all pink. WTF is this? Coolant in my crank case? Did they put the wrong fluid in? Did I blow a head gasket? The turbo? Piles of money began burning in my head. Ouch ouch double ouch.

I was only like 4 blocks from home at the time, so I grabbed a few bags of stuff and walked the rest of the way. When I got home I screamed into a pillow for a few minutes and then I picked up the phone and called Poquet Auto, as they were a) the ones who had changed the oil and b) my favorite place to take my cars when they break and c) the best damn car dealer in town. I explained how it had died and how I saw coolant in the crank case and kind of asked if there was a chance that they had screwed up. The dude said he didn't see how that would have happened, and while I kind of agreed with him, I wasn't fully convinced it was all just a coincidence. He gave me the number of their tow service and told me to bring it on in.

Next I called AAA and reactivated our recently defunct membership. I guess if you do that you immediately qualify for benefits, which is exactly what I was hoping for. Within 45 minutes I was riding shotgun in a tow truck heading north on Highway 100. So far so good.

I turned the car over to the service guy and explained what had happened and how I thought *maybe* it was related to the oil change. I also added that I trust them completely and threw in a few more backpedaling type statements that served to ratchet down my 'you guys broke my car' posturing. I gave him the number where I could be reached and Libby picked me up in the Jeep and we made our way up to my sister's house for Family Christmas Spectacular 2005.

I got the call a couple of hours later. Crankshaft position sensor had failed, ergo the computer doesn't know engine state, ergo computer stops injectors, ergo no vroom vroom. Turns out it's actually a pretty cheap fix. And what about the coolant in the crank case? They couldn't find any, which was odd, until I realized I had pulled the wrong diptstick and that I wasn't checking the oil. Needless to say, I gushed apologies all over the dude, but I still felt like an ass. When I stopped to pick it up on the way home I slunk in fully prepared to eat my hat, but the service dude was already gone for the day so instead I got to make small talk with the hottie sales lady while she charged my credit card. Lucky me.

I'm sorry I doubted you, Poquet.