Inspection Time

I have terrible luck with getting my car inspected. It could be because typically my cars are a few years older, have more wear and tear on them and therefore more tiny problems build up. But mostly it's because I seem to get stuck with the one inspector who has decided that he needs to be extra thorough with my car as it enters the bay, even if the sign next to his bay says "Cash Only. No Acceptions" (and this is the kind of mind that gets to decide what cars can stay on the road). It's almost as if I win the worst kind of lottery every June. So, I'll stand outside the inspection bay, pacing like an expectant father, just waiting to see if my little baby will come out with a shiny new "6" sticker or a big old "R."

Going into this year, I expected to fail. I had a ball joint problem a couple months back and I was fully convinced that the mechanic would fail me for having a strange wear pattern on my tires. This is the shit that I think about which keeps me up at night. Also, I had to try and find a new shop to go to because I seem to pick the shady mechanics. The family mechanic, who I trust completely, doesn't have the equipment to do inspections and so every year I'm forced to try someplace different. I should have known right off the bat that this guy was going to try and screw with me. When he first got in, my truck wouldn't start. Everest has always been quite good at starting for me on the first turn of the key. This just goes to prove that my car, much like an animal, can sense evil. Now, normally the worse thing that can happen is that your car will come out of the bay with a rejection sticker on it. Today I discovered a worse thing: the mechanic comes out of the bay and waves you over, saying, "I need to show you something."

Turns out that I have almost no brake pad left on my front tires, so he'll be failing me for that. Alright, I can see where that would be an issue. But, no other safety issues, so at least my tires weren't the problem. In fact, he told me, he could fit me in today to get my break pads fixed. No thanks, I replied, I would be going to my family's mechanic. It was at that time that he informed me I would also be failing my emissions test, because he couldn't hook my car up with the computer. Apparently I have a short somewhere. Now I began to turn a distinct shade of purple, because while I can't be sure that he was willing to let the emissions failure slide if I paid him to fix my brakes, it damn sure felt that way. The timing was just too convenient. Told you I find the shady mechanics.

So here I sit, with a car that has failed inspection in two ways, which is the maximum number of ways you can fail inspection. The only saving grace is that this year's inspection sticker was going to be red anyways, so at least the big red "R" on my windshield isn't nearly as noticeable.