gurdymonkey | Dec. 1st, 2008

Fog. Fog so thick that the morning commute was slow. Fog that sat on its fat foggy ass so that the East Bay was grey with limited visibility all day.

I was on my way out to lunch when a guy on a motorcycle rolled up beside me at the light and made that "Open your window" motion. "Your right brake light is out, lady." I thanked him, picked up a salad at Jack in the Box and hightailed it back to the shop ASAP. Not a day to be on the road without working lights.

Now I'd just spent part of Friday morning replacing the bulb in the left tail light. Could they both have blown at once? Had I blown a fuse after all? Had I done something to the wiring during the bulb change? Time to quit screwing around and trying to be all empowered and independent and have someone who knows what they're doing and has better tools have a look.

3:30 PM I call Bruce's Tire, the garage who services my company's fleet of trucks and vans and, for the past three years, my 1999 Toyota Tacoma. Katie, who frequently comes by our shop to pick up and drop off trucks being serviced, answers. "How busy are you guys this afternoon?" "What've you got?" "Someone flagged me down at lunchtime and said I've got a bad tail light." "We're only open until 5." "I can be there a little after 4 if someone's got a moment to give it a look." "OK, bring it in."

I sneak out 10 minutes early, roll cautiously up 880 to Hegenberger Road, praying nobody has an attack of Driving While Californian and decides to rear-end me. I turn into the driveway to see Wendell standing in the open bay, waving me forward. "What've you got, Lis?" I give him the short version, he walks behind the truck and instructsme to depress the brake, turn on the lights and so forth - you know, all the things that were almost impossible for me to troubleshoot on my own on Friday without a helper. Katie wanders in from the office to say hi to me and enjoy a butt break.

Sure enough, it's the right tail light that's out. Noel (the other short, bearded grey haired guy from Bruce's Oakland shop) comes over to say hi. He laughs as I pat Blanche on the camper shell and say, "It's OK, girl, I'm getting old too" while Wendell pops a new bulb in place and screws the light assembly back into its socket.

Wendell has me turn on the lights again and hit the brake pedal. The brake lights do their thing - but now my running lights aren't working. "That looks like a fuse," he says. I pop the hood release and put up the hood. (That's right, kiddies and risk managers - the customer is IN the garage. Helping.)

Wendell and Noel pounce on 'Tite Blanche like frat boys on a cute freshman with a gizmo that does not require one to pull each fuse out and inspect it visually. One 10 amp fuse later, my lights are behaving themselves.

Total time in and out, about 15 minutes. Total price for a lightbulb, a fuse and 15 minutes skilled labor? $0. They wouldn't charge me for it. And Wendell doesn't drink beer. I so owe these folks a basket of goodies for Christmas.