And by the way, did you know you're expected to tip a tow-truck driver? That is news to me. I couldn't understand why.
Anyhow, the car presumably made it to the mechanic's shop safely, despite my having no cash at midnight to give to the tow-truck driver. The next day, the mechanic informed me that it was indeed the spark plugs--something which, fortunately for my bank account, Keene could fix.
And now the pictures can start. Finally. I was getting bored with just text too.
While he monkey-wrenched, socket-wrenched, and wrench-wrenched, I helped by taking pictures and walking the cat.
Well, not really walking the cat. Mostly a lot of dragging him, lifting him up, then setting him back down in a different place.
While Scar Cat lounged, Yappy Little Dog went bark-crazy from behind the fence. I imagine he was yelling, "Who do you think you are? You're a cat! You have no business being outside on a leash." Yet Scar Cat was wholly unconcerned with Yappy Little Dog.
The hours wore on as Keene got messier and manlier. And more frustrated. Apparently, changing the spark plugs (and the fuel filter, as a bonus) in this particular car is tricky. I assume it's because the makers of fancy, luxury cars don't expect the owners will be the ones actually doing the repairs.
Infiniti, meet the next generation of your customers.
And my car and I roared with happiness.