Bear Bell

Took the Subbie in for an oil change and asked Rolando if he would also have the technician look into a noise coming from what sounded to me like the passenger door. “It just started this week,” I said. “A kind of high frequency rattle sound, like something was loose, although I looked the door over pretty thoroughly and couldn’t see that anything was loose. Goes away when the car stops. I only hear it when the car is rolling.”

Rolando dutifully typed the details into his computer as fast as I spoke, as if it were a crime scene. He then noted the manufacturer’s warranty had very recently expired. This is code speak for: Now it’s going cost you sucker. I quickly tried to think of way to explain how the problem very well might have originated when the car was still under warranty, and so doesn’t that mean, you know, technically speaking, it should be covered? But even to me it sounded like a load of bull, so I said nothing.

“I’ll have the tech look into it Mr. Nibbe.” He slides the estimate over the counter for my signature. “This still a good number to reach you at?” I told him it was.

Happy Wife (HW) had followed me to the dealership and was waiting outside in her car for me to take her to work. As we left I spotted the Subbie in the lot where I’d parked her, a tech already walking toward her to take her into the shop. It felt like seeing your child on a gurney being wheeled into surgery.

The hours passed. No call.

Still no call by 5 pm, and by then I needed go pick up HW from work, after which we went straight to the dealership. We pull into the lot and I spot the Subbie, right where I’d left her, but with a plastic protector on the driver’s seat indicating somebody had worked on her. Relief.

Rolando is at the counter again. “I’ll help the next person.” As I approach I’m thinking, The next person? Doesn’t he recognize me?

“Hi there, I’m here to pick up my Outback?” as if to say, remember me? And then, like a spurned lover I say, “You didn’t call me.”

“Oh, yes, I remember, very sorry for not calling you…” — he reaches for the paperwork on the chair behind him — “uh, Mr. Nibb is it?”

I correct him, “Nibbē“.

“Oh, sorry Mr. Nibbē. Yes, I’ve your work order right here. Just very busy today. Sorry.” He begins reading.

“What was the sound in my door? Did the tech diagnose it?”

I’m standing there with Happy Wife at my side, clearly expectant, like I’m waiting to hear “malignant” or “benign.” Rolando is still reading the tech’s note on the paperwork, and reading, and reading, and reading… And I’m thinking, who frickin’ wrote this note, Michener? I actually say that, “Man, that’s a lot of words. Who wrote the note, Michener?” Rolando chuckles.

Finally, he says, “I don’t know if you’re going to like what they found or not, Mr. Nibbe.” My eyes must’ve looked like two full moons. “Crap. What was it?!”

A bear bell.

“WTF?”

“Do you keep a bear bell in your car, Mr. Nibbe?” HW begins to laugh. An expression, half smirk half pity, rises on Rolando’s face. He explains the tech took the car for a test drive, noticed the noise I’d reported, and discovered the noise was emanating from the console, opened the lid on the console, spotted the bear bell, removed the bear bell from the console, and the noise disappeared. Entirely.

Rolando slides the paperwork over the counter for me to read the note myself, if I cared to.

“No charge for the diagnosis, Mr. Nibbe, just the oil change today. Oh, and the tech noted your air filter should probably be changed with your next oil change, and I see here the yellow box was checked on your tires. Still some tread life left, but you’ll want to think about changing them in six months or so too.”

I’m still on page one: “A bear bell?”

HW, now barely able to contain her laughter, says she’ll meet me at Bradley House, get us a couple of bar stools. She turns to leave, clicking towards the door in heels and an above-the-knee skirt, closely followed by the stares of two men at the parts counter.

I sign the paperwork. Swipe my Visa. Rolando staples this to that and hands me my copy. I thank him.

Outside, I open the Subbie’s door, remove the plastic protector, and there it is, on the console, laughing at me, the orange bear bell. I’d forgotten it was in the console. We sometimes put it one of the dogs’ collars when hiking in bear country. I pull out of the lot and mosey on down the road, hearing nothing but the sound of fresh oil lubing The Works.