A nondescript building with no signage. A yard filled with vehicles in various stages of disrepair…almost surrounding the building. Two large garage doors wide open. One car raised on the lift in the left-hand garage bay. Miles Davis pouring through the open 15 foot doors at decibels you might expect from an outdoor concert. And in the right bay? A man in blue Dickies jamming to his hourly “dance break.”
A good, trustworthy, mechanic is as rare as an honest politician.
The Dude has given up on the political process. But the necessity of transportation, and the Dude’s lack of mechanical knowledge, requires some form of Dude/mechanic relationship.
Luckily, I’ve had the good fortune of marrying into a mechanic family. The Jazz Mechanic described above is Mrs. Dude’s padre, aka Rex, and not only does he know his way around a vehicle, but he loves his family enough to extend a family discount.
Trustworthy and an amazing deal!?
Unreal. Gracias Rex.
Knowing that your car is running well, and you weren’t cheated, is a great relief. But the true joys in life are the little things.
As I’ve mentioned, I love our minivan. Mrs. Dude is still somewhat skeptical, but I dig it. And for all the haters, we’ve got a captain’s hat and a mini machine gun to let them know we are legit minivaners.
But now, we’ve taken it to the next level.
The yacht rolls into the Jazz Mechanic for some new brakes, and it comes back stopping on a dime and rocking this…
Sweet surprise Jazz Mechanic.
That’s the browning logo. I’ve never hunted a day in my life, but we now have multiple references to firearms on the family truckster. Don’t underestimate the minivan.