Of Course I Know How to Put Oil in The Car!

There are times that I am surprised to be wrong. I forget that I don't know everything. Whenever I get to feeling too uppity, I remember the time I put oil in the car.

Ethel Barrymore said "You grow up the day you have the first real laugh at yourself."

You tell me if this isn't a time to have that laugh!

It was during the days that I was coming to grips that I would need to learn how to do hard things. That I would someday, likely soon, be in charge of myself and the various things that can break. Things my spouse took care of. Like lawn mowers. And furnaces. And vacuums. And ~shudder~ cars.

I came from a family that was not really good at cars. Growing up it seemed our cars sat mutely alongside the house more than they did zipping along on their wheels. I used to think that if there were just two cars in a lot and my dad chose one the best thing to do would be to buy the other.

Or maybe walk.

In fact, I didn't learn to drive until I was 30 years old. But that's another story. Back to the oil.

I knew cars needed oil, and I knew mine was losing it with some sense of dedication to the project that made me nervous. Popping the hood I pulled out the dipstick and wiped it clean, stuck it into the oil place again, checked it, and saw that it was just clinging to the end of the stick. Looking down it was obvious that the drips were getting pretty serious.

Bingo! I need oil. No problem. So I took out the manual... AHEM! I need some bonus points over here! I looked in the manual and checked on the type of oil I needed to buy. 10W30. OK. I can do that.

I walked down the street to the Auto store, confident. I can do this. I walked right into the single largest conglomeration of dead dinosaurs that ever graced one place. It was overwhelming.

• Oil, aisles and aisles of it.
• Bottles, cans, cases, jugs.
• Long life, new life, extended wear, synthetic, 10W 5/10/30/40.

And then I saw it. Something familiar. A pour-oil-into-thingies-thing, kind of can opener side and a metal spout, all in one. (Exactly what my dad had around when the oil was in the vicinity.) I grabbed it and tossed it into the hand basket. Ah! And a washtub! I knew I needed one of those! Look at me adulting!

10W30! Yes! Which to choose? That's easy... we're in Pennsylvania so ... Quaker State. Y'know. Local oil.

It was on sale. So I bought a case. Of bottles. The nice uniformed guy totaled the sale and I staggered home fully prepared to master the car.

With the hood opened and propped I once again checked the dipstick. Nope, no new oil had materialized. I grabbed a bottle and looked at the rest of my supplies. Relegating the can opener spout to the washtub to deal with later, I opened the bottle and turned back to the car.

This was going to take finesse.

C A R E F U L L Y I poured about half a teaspoon of oil into the oil place. You know. The place the dipstick comes out of. I watched the oil slide S L O W L Y past the top of the tube. And poured another half teaspoon into the opening, dribbling at least half a cup all over the inside of the car in the process.

Something was wrong. I needed.... I needed... ummm...YES!

I ran into the house and brought out the funnel. You know the one? If you were ever at a Tupperware party I know you've seen one. Tangerine or apple green? The one you can win for having all the right things in your purse, or driving the longest to get to the party? That's right. The one for the saltshaker.

I wiped it out and sure enough it nestled right into the opening of the oil place. And I could add a whole teaspoon of oil at a time with no mess. So I did. For about 45 minutes. Bit by bit.

I remember thinking that Jiffy Lube doesn't charge nearly enough for an oil change if it takes this long to add a half bottle of oil into the car. I was getting bored, so I stuck the dipstick back in place to see if I could stop. To my astonishment it looked like I had filled the car to the brim: the whole stick was covered with oil.

Satisfied I closed the hood and took my supplies into the house. The almost-full-case of oil, one dishpan... and one spigot-opener thing. (The dishpan and the oil CAN opener stayed in the closet when I moved out years later. I have no idea what happened to them.)

The husband came home, and as he was eating dinner I announced my news: I had put oil into the car. Yup- I had topped it off in less than an hour. Filled it all the way to the top.

I remember his face like it was this morning. He turned to me slowly and asked me to tell him what I did. I filled it all the way? In 45 minutes? How much oil did I use? DID I use oil?

I was indignant. I had done research. In the manual. 10W30. And I'd put it in the oil place. With the saltshaker funnel.

It's not like I'm stupid or something.

He had me take him outside and show him. As I proudly removed the dipstick (privately concerned that almost all of the oil must have dripped out because now there was only about an inch showing instead of oil all along the stick) he calmly started checking all the places I hadn't put the oil: like the washer fluid, making sure the brake fluid hadn't been tampered with, and so on.

He asked just where I had placed the funnel, and I coolly and confidently showed him. Totally silent, he reached past me and removed the oil cap. He then asked if that would have been easier. I allowed that it would have.

He went into the house. And I sat on the steps and thought about the many ways I was doomed if/when our marriage dissolved.

Here's the thing: I thought I was right. I thought it was weird, and awkward and messy... but I thought I was right. The lesson I learned was to read more than just one page of the owner's manual if I have a question. And I take the car to people that don't need the manual to get the job done.

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