The long and short of it is the car didn’t pass smog. After running every errand I could think of and driving through neighborhoods I’d never been in to get rid of the gas, the car just didn’t perform. The cars condition was beyond additives. I got a bad feeling when it started to idle funny while it was on the rack.
The smog test administrator gave me a detailed explanation for the cars failure and he suggested a couple of mechanics in the neighborhood to take it to. After the test I drove to one of the mechanics he suggested. The mechanic was a shifty eyed character. I didn’t trust him at all. He said it would cost three to four hundred dollars to fix, that it was an all day repair. I said no thank you and walked out.
I drove to the other mechanic the smog man referred me to but he had moved his business to Van Nuys. I noticed there was another smog tester on the same property. I walked over to his place and I got a good feeling about him. He had grey hair and looked like an ex-hippy who made the conversion to smog test respectability. I wanted to ask him a few questions but he was engaged in a conversation with a young a couple.
“Have a seat. There’s some bottled water in the refrigerator,” the man said.
I grabbed the water and sat down in a fancy tropical patio area offset from the garage. There were magazines and comfortable patio chairs and foliage from the plants. It was shady and cool, very respectable.
I grabbed a magazine and waited.
The man finally came over and sat down.
“So your car failed the smog check.”
“Yes,” I handed him the printed report.
He looked at the report and asked a whole bunch of questions to which I answered. There was an air of calm and confidence to the man. He handed me a couple brochures and explained to me that California had a number of programs to help people like me. He meandered into a story about oilmen playing golf with the state of California and how the oilmen had to make a deal with the state of California to offset their greed and that’s how the programs came into place. The story was hard to follow but I got the jest of it.
As luck had it, I stumbled into the guru of smog testing. His name is Bill. He said I could fix the car for free or retire it for fifteen hundred dollars.
He handed me an application and said, “Think about it and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
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