November 23, 2007
Overeating and Overheating
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Thanksgiving day was an adventure. We did the usual go-stuff-your-face-with-as-much-food-as-you-can thing. My uncle fried a turkey. It was awesome. My grandma made real banana pudding (like my great-grandma was famous for). It was awesome. We had a good time and lots of laughs.
I left around 3:30 to come back. I drove to (almost) Augusta before I stopped for gas. A lady comes over to me and says “Sir, your engine is smoking.” There were 2 questions that hit my mind when she said that. First, am I really old enough that a 20-something girl would call me “sir”? Second, obviously, is why is my engine smoking?
I checked it out, and nothing was leaking, and it didn’t appear to actually be overheating, so I drove about 10 miles and then stopped again. All gages on the dash were reporting normal conditions, but I stopped anyway. It was smoking again. The reservoir for the radiator was low, but the radiator was fine. I topped off the reservoir and double checked my oil level. Another 30 miles down the road was the same story. And about 45 miles down the road after that.
So I decided to stop in Conyers (barely into metro Atlanta on the east side) to check the levels again. It wasn’t smoking. No problems at all. That’s odd. So I drove home. Still no smoking. Ron’s confused.
If any of you have any idea what this problem might be, I’d love to hear it.
Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving.
1 Comment on Overeating and Overheating »
November 30, 2007
Curt @ 2:20 am:
First, am I really old enough that a 20-something girl would call me “sir”?
Given a choice, I’m betting that you’d rather have an answer to the second question first. Unfortunately, I’m not qualified. I used to host a show called Mr. Mechanic, but it was a bona fide mechanic that actually provided the advice. I was just there for comic relief and to greet callers.
On the second point, let me prepare you for your upcoming entrance into middle age. I’ll save some of the other painful stuff until you are ready for it, but I can comment on the “Sir” comment. I’ve already crossed that bridge, young brother.
Here it is: You don’t need to worry, yet. At your age, “Sir” means something like “you are probably too old to be my boyfriend, but not old enough to be my dad.”
Now then. When you begin to walk through the door of middle age, they still refer to you as “Sir,” but it’s with an almost reverential tone, reserved for ministers, teachers, doctors, and grandpas. I have adapted to hearing it, but so far–I haven’t come to like it.