Alison Bezzina

Don’t you hate it when mechanics treat you like you wouldn’t know a gear box if you tripped in one?

Admittedly, most women are not half as bothered about cars as men are, but let it be known that just because we lack the Y chromosome, we are not complete vehicle morons.

Last month I got a puncture, so I went to get it fixed at the nearest petrol station. It was blistering hot but since no one came to assist me, I reluctantly got out of the car and headed to the back to take the punctured tire out of the boot. As I lifted the back door, the place went totally silent. Five oily and sweaty men were starring and sniggered at my expense. In some unrevealing way they found my power suit a turn-on and positioned themselves in a way to get a good view of my behind as I bent down to pick up the tire.  I turned on my miffed look and finally got two of them to help me out.

Up to this point I was feeling rather victorious and was silently smirking to myself, but then, one of them came back to inform me that the tire had a big nail stuck in it. This time I gave him my ‘just fix it’ look, and was about to drive away, when he suddenly bent down again, stuck his head inside my window, and said ‘Don’t be angry at the nail ‘pupa’, I too would nail you if I could!’

I still regret not driving off with his head inside my window, but I was so flabbergasted that my recovery time gave him enough space to retreat to the comfort of his sniggering clan. So I took off, leaving the marks of my screeching tires dangerously close to their toes!

The week after, I went to a mechanic because I heard a strange noise coming from the front of the car. Without blinking an eye-lid he told me to try to turn on the stereo louder so that it goes away. Of course he thought I’d fit one of the three female stereotypes that he has stored in his pea-sized head - the type that laughs at any male joke, the type who thinks that headlights need halogen oil to work, or the type who would let him get away with anything. Unfortunately for him I’m neither of these, so I simply went on to baffle him with female talk of dual chrome exhaust, fault codes, and crank position sensors. In the most patronizing tone that I could master I also added that whatever he does he shouldn’t try to flood my fuel injected engine.

As a woman, it takes a lot of time and patience to find a respectful mechanic who will not try to take you for a ride with imaginary car problems. Many try to baffle you with terminology making absolutely no effort to explain the necessary repairs in a language that anyone would understand. Instead they pull out words from non-existent laws of physics and drum up slang names for the non-existent parts that need replacement. If you’re still not baffled enough and dare to ask questions, they go on to answer you in mono-syllabic terms and in the same nonsense terminology...all the way maintaining the authority of a neo natal surgeon.

And then there are the speed talking mechanics. These are the cleverest of them all. They present you with a pre-prepared list of things that your car will need. They go through it with you and proceed to expand on each time one by one without breathing or giving you any possibility to question them. The clever part is that the list is designed in a way so that each item is dependent on the item on top of it so if you don’t approve it all, the original and the only necessary repair, would not be effective.... oh and of course, whether you have any or not, they always remind you that it would be dangerous to drive your kids around in that!

The good news is that there might be some light at the end of the tunnel. According to latest European statistics, many women are now taking car mechanics as a career, and with almost 50% of drivers being of the fairer sex, they might get some added custom for their added sophistication.

Having said that, I have to share an advert that was allegedly placed in the Auto Trader by a woman:

For Sale : Red Ford KA with one of those big doors at the back.

Red. Various gonks, lots of places for lippy and sunglasses, CD of Hair Brush Divas stuck in CD player, one of those beep beep parking thingies, mirror behind driver’s side sun visor, smells nice, €2000 o.n.o. I don’t know how many miles it’s done but I only really used it to drive to Janice’s house and back at the weekend, oh and sometimes to work if the bus was late, and my brother Kev once drove it to see his pervy mate Gary in Reading. Call my dad Alan on xxxxxxxx.

 First published on The Times Motoring Supplement July 09