That's what I said when I called the garage to schedule some repairs for my wife's car. And I'm not kidding, it was a very LOUD vibrating/banging/zombie-escaping-from-the-crypt kind of noise! And it needed professional help.
Not as if I would have taken care of things had the noise been a wimpy wheeze instead of the ear-shattering noise that it was. I am not mechanically gifted. Motors are a mystery. Hell, toasters are a mystery! So when the car does something it should not do, I call in the pros.
We dropped it off last night so they would have the entire day to disassemble, diagnose, and repair the vehicle. And we were prepared to lose Son16's college tuition, if necessary, to pay for their work.
We arrived today, clutching our checkbook, to get our car. Before looking at the bill, I inquired as to the nature of the noise. The repairman gave me that look. You know the one. The one from our childhood. The one the grownups gave us when they wanted to communicate the sentiment: "You definitely should know better." And then, in one question, he completed the humiliation...
"When was the last time you checked the oil?"
Gulp. Where was that 'manly Tony' when we needed him?!?!
We paid sheepishly for the oil fill up, drove home, and along the way, stopped to buy the family KFC Mashed Potato Bowls to drown our humiliation.