On the job

Here's another column. Keep close. I got a really good one for Valentine's Day.
Well, not that great, but pretty good. You can decide for yourself.


Man, at his very core, was meant to be something great, something definitive, something inspiring. That something is a mechanic. It's more than a job - it's a lifestyle. Living in the grease, the muck and the sludge - this is no place for a woman. It doesn't smell good. The grease doesn't exfoliate your skin as it washes your dishes. It's tough and difficult. You've got to use your brain sometimes, and that can get in the way for many women.

To take a car from diagnosis, extraction of broken bits and installation of new parts is just a process not meant for women. There's a reason why men are adept at fixing cars - if we were as bad as women at breaking cars, there'd be no one to keep cars running. While the auto industry would absolutely love this idea (because we'd all be replacing our cars every 3-5 years), the great majority of us couldn't afford the ridiculous situation we'd be in.

For some evidence in point - go in to any shop or dealership, and you'll find what? The women sit at desks and the men are half under hoods or wherever else the problem may be. I myself have worked in three different service drives and not one female mechanic have I seen. You would think that I have been exaggerating, but I'm not. There's always that one exception to the rule, right? One or two manly women who got some testosterone mixed in with their estrogen found their way into a garage, right? Wrong. It just doesn't happen. Those manly women I mentioned all showed up on American Gladiators.

I'm not trying to dissuade any women from applying for a mechanic's job. If I were a service manager, I'd consider them the same as anyone else. But I'm sure that given enough time, some male applicant would come along that would have more than enough credentials/experience to wield the giant wrench of automotive repair. It's the just the way it works. If I applied for a secretarial job or receptionist job or for a cooking position, I'm absolutely sure I wouldn't be selected over a woman. Why? I can't type fast, file efficiently or follow recipes perfectly. And that's why I don't apply for those positions.

So men, keep up the fixing, 'cause we can all be sure that women will keep up the breaking!

My first blog. You're welcome.

Here is an example of the columns I wrote weekly for the weekly paper at Weber State. I was told once (by a lunatic) that I was funny, witty, and insightful. She might have meant inciteful, which isn't a real word, but it would have made more sense. Because, much like that word inciteful, my columns are all nonsense.
The column was called "Battle of the Sexists" and I wrote for the males and the managing editor wrote for the womenfolk. She was herself a woman.
Be warned. I wrote straight from the cuff of the horse's mouth or hip or whatever or wherever you shoot from when you tell it like it is. Or ain't.

Well, just read it and tell me what you think. The topic is Shopping.

Shopping Men don’t shop. There, that’s all that need be said. Just kidding. Really, what men do isn’t shopping, though. We search, compare, evaluate, test, and then we purchase. We don’t wake up one day with nothing do and decide the mall’s the best place to get a wicked deal on a pair of pumps, only to spend the next 48 hours buying shoes or talking to people about shoes. No, we use the good sense of our favorite sites to peruse the selections of stores online. We spend countless hours pouring over magazines and articles written on the item on our mind. We find side-by-side comparisons and consumer reviews. We seek out the knowledge of those who have bought before us and ferociously extract their opinion. With me, it’s cars. If I “shopped” for cars, I’d come home from work, look at my wife and say something like, “hey, how about I go pick up a treat at the local used car dealership?” Then I’d much-less-than-promptly return home with 32 automobiles and 16 SUVs. I’d scatter them about my closet and call up my guy friends (remember – hypothetical!) and go on and on about how there was this awesome sale and I couldn’t leave without getting all I could. I’d then look at my latest credit card statement and wonder how I’d gone over my limit again. That’s shopping. “Not shopping” is coming home from work or school, getting comfortable, and putting in some long hours, reading the latest articles from Car and Driver or Consumer Reports. Then I’d check the local papers and free postings on my favorite Web sites. After I found a promising prospect, I’d sleep soundly knowing I hadn’t blown my money yet. I’d wake up the next morning and let my mind rework all the information and reviews of the vehicle that may join my personal motor pool. That’s for something significant, a category most clothing does NOT fall under. When we guys need a shirt or a pair of shoes to replace our moon boots, we simply go to Point A, it being the nearest retailer of said item. We grab the nearest item to the door, quickly stride to the counter and pay, in cash, the fine woman at the counter what the item cost. Then we’d immediately return to the comfort of our home office/cave and get back to all those insightful evaluations of computer hardware, film equipment, treadmills, boxing gloves, car stereos, television sets, personal aura expungifiers, doo-hickeys, and didgeridoos.