Broke Down Suby Palace

I want to start this post by publicly accusing my in-laws of rufying our Subaru.

But without them, Kenny would have never entered my life.

Let's take a few steps back, to last week, when our trusty (or so I thought) Subaru Impreza Outback was getting all hot and bothered as we climbed the mountains from Portland to Tahoe - through Ashland, around Shasta, and with a vengeance over Donner Pass.

And after a few days rest, she continued to red-line on our way to a hike up Mount Rose. She needed a doctor, stat. In the meantime, we stopped at the auto supply store for some coolant. When asked for a referral for a good mechanic, the store owner chuckled and pointed to a stack of business cards next to the register.

The business card was for Ken's Auto Supply, with a phone number and a name. It simply said "Kenny." Not Cher, not Britney, not Justin. But Kenny.

Here are just a few of the reasons we should have run like hell from Kenny instead of giving him a wad of cash and entrusting him with our only asset:

---He does not operate an actual, legit business. Instead, he works on cars from his driveway. Or more accurately, from the driveway of the guy he rents a room from.

---He did not know the address of said residence/business.

---He asked for $300 upfront. Cash.

---He does not accept credit cards. Did I mention we're broke?

---He does not own/use a credit card. We used our own credit card to order car parts from his dealer. At least we hope it's his parts dealer.

---He told us that after he was finished, our car was going to be "bomber."

---He described his (attempted) trip to Canada with an ex-girlfriend. The mounties wouldn't let him into the country because he's an ex-con. "Just some old drug charge or something."

---Upon meeting him, we discovered he was slower than molasses. Turns out he has a sprained ankle, swollen to the size of his knee. All of this, because of a bout of gout. The first one he's had since he was 12 years old. No, he doesn't eat rich food. But thinks it might be the marinated artichokes on his Tuscan Sandwich from his Safeway. No, I should never know this much information about anyone, let alone my new mechanic. But he offered all this and a bag of chips within 10 minutes of introduction.

---While he was looking under the hood of the Suby, his roommate came out of the house with a backpack on, unscrewed a California license plate from one of the other Subarus in the driveway, and proceeded to screw it on to a busted old truck that he drove away leaving a tail of black smoke.

---One of the cars for sale in the driveway said something to the effect of: "$2,500, OBO. Great condition for age. Except no reverse." I didn't even know there were cars that didn't have reverse. And if the guy's a mechanic, couldn't he fix the malfunction and sell the car for more dinero?!?

Needless to say, Kenny somehow managed to endear himself to me. Maybe it's his verbal vomit, his swollen cankle, or his felony record. When it's all said and done, I'm just crossing my fingers that for what he lacks in brains, beauty, social skills, and health, he can make up for in Subaru mechanic prowess. Kenny, I have faith in you. Make our car bomber again, and we'll be sure to name it after you.