I received a call telling me that I had left a puddle of oil in the driveway of my last client. Since I recalled running over a curb (that happens much too often), I assumed that I had hit the oil pan. When I checked my parking spot, there were drops of what appeared to be oil.
Off I went to a nearby store that has a garage. After my car was in the air, the mechanic showed me that the oil pan was fine. He mentioned that he did see that some fluid was leaking, but it was probably old. I asked for a possible reason why there would be such a large amount of fluid in my client's driveway. He said he could take a closer look, but I'd have to go get the bottom of my car steam-cleaned first. That's when I put my hands on my hips.
I asked again, in my best middle-aged, determined woman voice, if there was someone else who could take a look at it. He said there wasn't really anyone else available. I politely stood my ground and asked that he find someone else to take a look at it. The second mechanic discovered that another fluid was leaking and recommended a nearby full service garage (who looked it over, explained what was happening, and why it is not a situation that is urgent).
Pre-diagnosis, I would have had tears in my eyes, chin quivering, would have spoken as though the situation was life and death, and would be worried about what I was sure would absolutely have to be an engine overhaul at the very least. My mind would immediately develop a scenario featuring me living in the woods, penniless, car-less, and generally abandoned. There are coyotes who'd probably get me (see Germs vs Meds).
I am so pleased with myself. I hated all the drama that used to be part of my life and that I could in no way control. But just in case, I'll look around before leaving my apartment to see if any critters (coyotes, cougars, wild boars, poodles) are skulking around.
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