Jon K.
~SPONSOR~
- Mar 26, 2001
- 1,354
- 4
I bought the wife a little Suzuki XL7 a few months ago. Great little grocery wagon. When I bought it, the sales guy says: "We will change the oil for the life of the vehicle."
Great! We called last week and asked for the oil change. "Oh", the salesman says; "that promotion is not in effect anymore." So I make a face sorta like :yikes: and send off some nasty E-mails. When I told the wife, she freaks out on me, and tells me to keep my nose out of it, what if we need warranty work or something????? Much to my surprise, I was able to control my sudden desire to strangle the wife, and went out to saw some more fallen trees out of my yard. Still, a few thoughts ran through my mind as I had the chainsaw in my hands . . . . .
Having worked out all my aggression, I ask the wife if she would like for me to just change the oil myself. "Yes, Sweetheart, that is what I would like for you to do."
So I drive the van up on some ramps, and crawl under it to find a belly pan sort of thing that completely blocks any access to the oil filter. :ugg: Four 12mm bolts, two 10mm bolts, and four phillips screws later, the belly pan is off.
Alright! I drain the oil no problem, but none of my three oil filter wrenches fit the filter. I have to go to the auto parts store to get the filter anyway, so I get a replacement filter, a wrench to fit it, and some oil.
Back under the van, and the new filter wrench still doesn't fit. It needs to be a bit bigger.
Back to the parts store.
" Are you sure this is the right filter? It is not quite as large."
"Yes, it is the right filter, it is just a bit different size."
"Are you sure you're sure?"
"Of course! Do you think we can't look up a filter?"
Ok, I pick out a filter wrench that looks like it will work on the original filter, and head back home. Sure enough, the filter comes off, the threads are the same, and I install the new filter, pour in six quarts (!) of oil, and crank it up to get it off the ramps.
The oil light doesn't go off.
I hop out of the car, and look under it just in time to see the last of my 6 quarts of oil pump out onto the garage floor. :bang:
At this time I must point out that I am old, fat, and crippled because I have been run over by my own motorcycle waaay too many times. I really do not enjoy climbing under a car.
No choice but to sop up as much oil as I can, move to a cleaner spot, and pull the filter back off. Upon very close inspection, the face of the filter is not at the right level with the offset of the threads, and the filter tightened up on the threads, not the gasket.
Back to the parts store.
"This filter doesn't work."
"It is the right filter!"
"No it's not."
"Yes it is"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"How 'bout I shove it up your a$$ and see if it fits that application?!?"
If you have read this far, try to harken back to the salesguy that promised me free oil changes for life . . . . . . . is he roasting in hell just yet? . . . . . . . I certainly hope so, or very, very soon.
As the parts store guy was now in no mood to speak of filters, I move on to fresh territory, the Autozone store down the street. The Autozone guy looks up the filter, and proudly produces exactly the same filter that has caused me so much misery. Something in my demeanor must have prevented him from interfering in my next move, which was to start opening boxes until I find a filter that matches the one that came off the car. Smart guy.
Ah! All is right! The new filter fits, seals properly, and holds the six fresh quarts of oil that I pour into the engine. The belly pan goes back on, no problem with the four 12mm bolts, two 10mm bolts, and four phillips screws, though it is dark now, and I have to complete the job with a drop light.
Dragging my sorry butt into the house, I am greeted by the wife with "Gee, how long does it take to change the freakin' oil anyway? I needed to take these spider lilly bulbs over to my sister. Now it is too late!"
When I get to work the next day, I have an E-mail response on my screen, the dealer is apologizing for the "misunderstanding" and I may bring the van in at my convienience.
I never really understood when people spoke of "going postal". But I am starting to get it now.
Great! We called last week and asked for the oil change. "Oh", the salesman says; "that promotion is not in effect anymore." So I make a face sorta like :yikes: and send off some nasty E-mails. When I told the wife, she freaks out on me, and tells me to keep my nose out of it, what if we need warranty work or something????? Much to my surprise, I was able to control my sudden desire to strangle the wife, and went out to saw some more fallen trees out of my yard. Still, a few thoughts ran through my mind as I had the chainsaw in my hands . . . . .
Having worked out all my aggression, I ask the wife if she would like for me to just change the oil myself. "Yes, Sweetheart, that is what I would like for you to do."
So I drive the van up on some ramps, and crawl under it to find a belly pan sort of thing that completely blocks any access to the oil filter. :ugg: Four 12mm bolts, two 10mm bolts, and four phillips screws later, the belly pan is off.
Alright! I drain the oil no problem, but none of my three oil filter wrenches fit the filter. I have to go to the auto parts store to get the filter anyway, so I get a replacement filter, a wrench to fit it, and some oil.
Back under the van, and the new filter wrench still doesn't fit. It needs to be a bit bigger.
Back to the parts store.
" Are you sure this is the right filter? It is not quite as large."
"Yes, it is the right filter, it is just a bit different size."
"Are you sure you're sure?"
"Of course! Do you think we can't look up a filter?"
Ok, I pick out a filter wrench that looks like it will work on the original filter, and head back home. Sure enough, the filter comes off, the threads are the same, and I install the new filter, pour in six quarts (!) of oil, and crank it up to get it off the ramps.
The oil light doesn't go off.
I hop out of the car, and look under it just in time to see the last of my 6 quarts of oil pump out onto the garage floor. :bang:
At this time I must point out that I am old, fat, and crippled because I have been run over by my own motorcycle waaay too many times. I really do not enjoy climbing under a car.
No choice but to sop up as much oil as I can, move to a cleaner spot, and pull the filter back off. Upon very close inspection, the face of the filter is not at the right level with the offset of the threads, and the filter tightened up on the threads, not the gasket.
Back to the parts store.
"This filter doesn't work."
"It is the right filter!"
"No it's not."
"Yes it is"
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"How 'bout I shove it up your a$$ and see if it fits that application?!?"
If you have read this far, try to harken back to the salesguy that promised me free oil changes for life . . . . . . . is he roasting in hell just yet? . . . . . . . I certainly hope so, or very, very soon.
As the parts store guy was now in no mood to speak of filters, I move on to fresh territory, the Autozone store down the street. The Autozone guy looks up the filter, and proudly produces exactly the same filter that has caused me so much misery. Something in my demeanor must have prevented him from interfering in my next move, which was to start opening boxes until I find a filter that matches the one that came off the car. Smart guy.
Ah! All is right! The new filter fits, seals properly, and holds the six fresh quarts of oil that I pour into the engine. The belly pan goes back on, no problem with the four 12mm bolts, two 10mm bolts, and four phillips screws, though it is dark now, and I have to complete the job with a drop light.
Dragging my sorry butt into the house, I am greeted by the wife with "Gee, how long does it take to change the freakin' oil anyway? I needed to take these spider lilly bulbs over to my sister. Now it is too late!"
When I get to work the next day, I have an E-mail response on my screen, the dealer is apologizing for the "misunderstanding" and I may bring the van in at my convienience.
I never really understood when people spoke of "going postal". But I am starting to get it now.