My car is fixed. I took it to Weesner's, the local garage in town, and the mechanic regretfully told me that I won't be able to get it in until the 18th. Since I can't drive it anywhere else, I agree, and go to drive it home, only to have it die completely in front of Dollar General, half a block away.
Just when all hope was lost, however, Boomhauer came out of Dollar General, helped me push the car into a parking lot, looked at the engine, and found the problem: a missing belt that powered the alternator and power steering. Then he offered to take me to buy a new belt, all the while talking very very fast in a strong hillbilly twang. We arrived at the part store, and lo and behold, his good friend Bill was working. Bill, not being a regular employee at the store, which apparently has no organizational system whatsoever, got lost while repeatedly asking what kind of car and engine the part was for. Then we found the belt, which cost $30. I pull out the debit card, and Bill informs me that he doesn't know how to work the card reader, so he needs cash. No problem, says Boomhauer, who then runs me to my bank to get the money. Along the way, I learn that Boomhauer's daughter worked at the Burger King that adjoins the Shell I worked at. We pay for the belt, tax free because Bill couldn't add up the tax, and then Boomhauer and I rush back to my car to install the belt.
Regrettably, the belt proved to be tough to install. Even after I went back to my apartment to get my deluxe tools, Boomhauer couldn't get it attached, and I was my usual automotively-useless self. So we hatched a plan: Boomhauer jumped my car, and we drove into Dublin to his friend Dale Gribbel's garage. After a long conference, Dale decided to take the tenser wheel out completely and burn the stuck bolt off. He then berates Boomhauer by saying "I can't believe you didn't think of that one." I keep mostly quiet. Dale then installs the belt with no further hassle, and no one accepts any payment. I pay them $20 anyway. I gave it to Boomhauer, who gave it to Dale.
So my car was fixed for the low, low price of $50, parts and labor, plus two hours of entertainment provided by some rather overfriendly blue collar types. But, since they fixed my car, please understand that my tone is respectful mocking, not to be confused with malicious mocking.
Now I'm doing my laundry, and it turns out that I forgot to put a couple of packets of parmesan cheese from a dinner at work into our condiment drawer so we have them when we need them. Instead, they stayed in my pants pocket, and as a result all of my jeans smell faintly of baked pasta.