Things Men Don't Have To Deal With: Volume 1.

I don't know much about vehicles of any sort. I'm the first to admit that. When I hit a deer a couple years ago and blew the radiator, I jumped out of the car screaming because I thought it was on fire. Two weeks ago, I had to have my husband get in my vehicle and help me figure out why it wouldn't shift into reverse so I could leave for work. Turns out I hadn't put the key into the ignition. After countless Google searches, I still don't understand how trains work. And every single time I get on an airplane, I'm tempted to ask 'If after every single plane crash, the black box remains intact, can someone PLEASE explain to me why we can't just make the whole plane out of the same material?'

I'm not sitting by the phone awaiting a call to be featured in 'Popular Mechanics' any time soon. My understanding of the inner workings of my vehicle are limited to filling the gas tank when the meter is closer to 'e' than it is to 'f', and calling a professional when any one of the array of warnings lights up. Having listened to the 'change oil' notification chime for the last month, I finally made an appointment to take it in. I normally tend to my car with a little more concern, but after driving my first vehicle for two years before learning that you're supposed to get the oil changed (oops!), I don't get too worked up over being a couple weeks behind.

Being that vehicle maintenance isn't my field of expertise, I typically trust the professionals. To a fault. They could tell me that my snuffaluffagus was leaking and I would hand over all my money to have it fixed without question. But something about the little-too-friendly guy at Midas today who ignored my every attempt to ignore him while mentioning my husband in every possible sentence (not even if you were literally the last guy on earth, dude) made me want to call Dateline to break the story that mechanics everywhere might be taking advantage of ladies who appear to have no knowledge of auto maintenance! Before you send me an e-mail, let me say that I know that not ALL mechanics are liars, but this one definitely was.

After completing my oil change (or so I trust), he walked in all Charmy McCharmerson and we had the following exchange:

Liar Face: 'Alright, Miss Sloan, you just need to replace the air filter and you'll be set.'
Me: 'Mrs. Sloan. And I've replaced the air filter the last two times I've been here. How long do they last?'
Liar Face: 'Hmmm. We don't show any record of an air filter on your file, but they should last several months if not a year. I'd be happy to show you how dirty your current air filter is...'
Me(All Erin Brockovich-like): 'Hmmm. This receipt I have from three months ago shows that I was charged for an air filter. So did you charge me and not replace it, or are you using sub-par parts that don't last?'
Liar Face: 'You know...we did just change computer systems and it looks like that air filter got erased somehow. I'm going to go look at it again.'

Miraculously, upon further review, the air filter is projected to last another 5,000 miles or so. Not that I believe anything he said at that point.

I may not know how auto parts work, or where they go, but I do know the last time I purchased one. I'm disgusted that a woman in a designer dress and high heels can't walk into an auto shop alone and ask fifteen questions about the difference between oil and anti-freeze without getting scammed. If you do know the difference, please clear your calendar for three months from now - you're going with me next time.