Taking the hubs off to get at the rotors was messy and typically British. It involved cotter pins in odd places, getting grease and dirt all over me and, of course, gashing my one fingers and mashing another. I loved it.
Filthy and bleeding, I took the rotors to a half-dozen different places before I found someone who would turn them. As I drove, I pondered the current Pervageddon where women are coming forward to denounce the cads and bounders who abused them years and years ago.
In all my life working on cars, I've never met a woman who enjoyed doing it. I don't think I've met more than 5 who were even modestly competent at things like changing oil and replacing a flat tire. It's not what they do.
Pervageddon, in my mind, was greatly driven by the religious cult of sexual equality. Women didn't need the protection of men and men were free to either ignore the situations or take advantage of women. There were no chevaliers to rescue the wronged damsels because we had decided to ditch biological facts of life. No, men and women were equal, interchangeable.
Meanwhile, there I was, happily covered in dirt, grease and a little bit of blood, playing with my masculine toy.
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| The shop that turned my rotors was worked entirely by men. There was one, lovely, delicate, mousy girl at the counter, but in the back, it was all men. While I did this, my wife was baking pies with a friend. Weird, huh? |
5 comments:
You're funny!
Did you ever take your daughter into the garage when you were working on the car and have her help you? That typically is how one develops an interest in such things.
Yes. It didn't take at all. Having raised both boys and girls and coached both boys and girls, there is a big difference between them. It's called Sexual Dimorphism in biology.
Also, my dad never took me into the garage to teach me how to do this. I picked this up completely on my own and discovered my love for it without any introduction as a child. My path is available to everyone.
You need to meet more farm girls.
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