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Dec. 1st, 2003 04:39 pmWrecking yard, saturday morning, the travel-case toolbox with the minimum of tools, greasy dirt and rotting concrete underfoot. Not that I noticed, being both inured to it and somewhat distracted by SMITW, the Sexiest Mechanic In The World... *sigh* Lusty fantasy swirls through my head. A Falcon 500 on blocks. Grubby overalls. An oil-slicked beard and sweaty chest.....
" What plastic thing's broken off this time mate?"
Back to reality with a humiliating thump. SMITW remembers me for my embarassing uber-80's wedgemobile. Dammit. And today Im not even here for anything exotic that might engage him in witty discourse. No A-series filter bracket, Renault thermosensor adaptor, Herald bonnet latch. No, today Im here for a Toyota Corona wiper linkage. SMITW waves vaguely in the direction of the Japanese section, his attention already drawn back to the hotrod magazine on the counter.
A bunch of apples put in a bag will ripen and decay faster than individual apples. Ripening apples (and , indeed, most fruit) give off a gas that triggers the ripening process in nearby fruit. The same seems to happen with cars in a wrecking yard. You can leave a car untouched on your front yard and it will sit there for years (your neighbours, however, might object). Put the same car in a wrecking yard, and It'll last a couple of months at most. Last time I was at the yard I had seen a fresh, low-mileage Corona, and I set out to find this shiny prize and loot it of its linkages. I walked straight by it twice before recognising it- this car had previously been some auntie's pride and joy before she had reversed it into a powerpole (at quite some speed, by the looks of it) Now it was a mouldy, muddy, rotting and collapsing metal shell.
The wiper linkages are still intact, shiny and clean as the day the car was made. 3 bolts, a sharp thump with the heel of my hand, and the whole assembly drops off. In theory. In this case, however, one last balljoint refuses to unclip. I reach in through the rather small access panel, wriggling my arm past the wiring loom until i can coax the stubborn link from its socket. It comes free with a rather pathetic pop, my prize falls free, and I suddenly notice that my arm is completely and utterly stuck in the Corona's firewall. Something sharp and metallic has hooked itself under my elbow joint, and the wiring loom has wrapped itself in such a way that I cant wriggle it free. This is not the first time Ive done this either- while attempting to fix the broken linkage on DebXena's car I found myself in the same predicament, but managed to work myself loose. Some people never learn....
The toolbox with its lifesaving set of metal shears is tantalisingly close. So close its comical, as I stretch and strain to reach it with my foot, my booted toes brushing the very corner of the tray. Just as Im starting to think about panicking, i hear the crunch of someone walking towards me. Of course its SMITW. He's been watching me and is sporting the most wicked smirk ive ever seen.
"Need a hand with anything?" (smirk smirk. The twinkle in his eyes is unbearable.) He passes me the shears and watches as I cut myself free. Fantastic, now i wont be known as 80's Wedgemobile guy any more, now I'll be remembered as the guy who got stuck in the Corona. Shit. "theyre nasty fuckers those things, made for tiny Japanese arms I reckon" he says as he rolls up the sleeve on his overalls. On his elbow is a recent scar, matching prefectly the marks on my own arm. It appears that Corona wiper linkages are a popular item, and at one time or another everyone who works at the yard has battled with the wee beasties.
I get the linkages for $20 ("normally 50 but your a mate now, eh") which will make DebXena happy, and I will definitely be back to SMITW's yard, where im not the guy who drives the wedge, nor the guy who got stuck in the Corona, but just a mate.
" What plastic thing's broken off this time mate?"
Back to reality with a humiliating thump. SMITW remembers me for my embarassing uber-80's wedgemobile. Dammit. And today Im not even here for anything exotic that might engage him in witty discourse. No A-series filter bracket, Renault thermosensor adaptor, Herald bonnet latch. No, today Im here for a Toyota Corona wiper linkage. SMITW waves vaguely in the direction of the Japanese section, his attention already drawn back to the hotrod magazine on the counter.
A bunch of apples put in a bag will ripen and decay faster than individual apples. Ripening apples (and , indeed, most fruit) give off a gas that triggers the ripening process in nearby fruit. The same seems to happen with cars in a wrecking yard. You can leave a car untouched on your front yard and it will sit there for years (your neighbours, however, might object). Put the same car in a wrecking yard, and It'll last a couple of months at most. Last time I was at the yard I had seen a fresh, low-mileage Corona, and I set out to find this shiny prize and loot it of its linkages. I walked straight by it twice before recognising it- this car had previously been some auntie's pride and joy before she had reversed it into a powerpole (at quite some speed, by the looks of it) Now it was a mouldy, muddy, rotting and collapsing metal shell.
The wiper linkages are still intact, shiny and clean as the day the car was made. 3 bolts, a sharp thump with the heel of my hand, and the whole assembly drops off. In theory. In this case, however, one last balljoint refuses to unclip. I reach in through the rather small access panel, wriggling my arm past the wiring loom until i can coax the stubborn link from its socket. It comes free with a rather pathetic pop, my prize falls free, and I suddenly notice that my arm is completely and utterly stuck in the Corona's firewall. Something sharp and metallic has hooked itself under my elbow joint, and the wiring loom has wrapped itself in such a way that I cant wriggle it free. This is not the first time Ive done this either- while attempting to fix the broken linkage on DebXena's car I found myself in the same predicament, but managed to work myself loose. Some people never learn....
The toolbox with its lifesaving set of metal shears is tantalisingly close. So close its comical, as I stretch and strain to reach it with my foot, my booted toes brushing the very corner of the tray. Just as Im starting to think about panicking, i hear the crunch of someone walking towards me. Of course its SMITW. He's been watching me and is sporting the most wicked smirk ive ever seen.
"Need a hand with anything?" (smirk smirk. The twinkle in his eyes is unbearable.) He passes me the shears and watches as I cut myself free. Fantastic, now i wont be known as 80's Wedgemobile guy any more, now I'll be remembered as the guy who got stuck in the Corona. Shit. "theyre nasty fuckers those things, made for tiny Japanese arms I reckon" he says as he rolls up the sleeve on his overalls. On his elbow is a recent scar, matching prefectly the marks on my own arm. It appears that Corona wiper linkages are a popular item, and at one time or another everyone who works at the yard has battled with the wee beasties.
I get the linkages for $20 ("normally 50 but your a mate now, eh") which will make DebXena happy, and I will definitely be back to SMITW's yard, where im not the guy who drives the wedge, nor the guy who got stuck in the Corona, but just a mate.
