Shouldn't days off be stressless? (Part One)

Like, anti-stress?

I took my VE-hickle into the shop to get some car frass accomplished. After the ransom the local chain auto repair held over me last year, I decided that any future repairs would be accomplished at the garage of "our guys". You know, the guys who your parents swear up and down are the best mechanics anywhere, and that won't screw ya? Heck, these guys'll even give you a quick lesson on what happened to your car, how to prevent it in the future, and will even identify an issue over the phone to see if you can fix it yourself. So for all intents and purposes: a trustworthy mechanic.

I headed out to BC in the early a.m. fully expecting a ride from my papa (who I'd spoke with the previous day to verify that playing taxi was cool.) I figured that my car frass would get addressed, and I'd have the opportunity to spend the day with my folks, and help them with some needed manual labor. Fair trade.

I dropped it off, explained the issues (Difficulties engaging transmission when placed in reverse) and puttered out to the street corner to wait for pop, w/his obligatory coffee and danish.

Fast forward about a half an hour when I'm almost halfway through my book, and my Ma calls to say: "Why didn't you call this morning to tell your father when you were leaving Moseph's?".

Right.

We kept the frass to a minimum as I tried to explain that Dad and I agreed to meet there at 8am, and (no) I'm not waiting any longer I'd just hoof it home.

So we fast forward yet again, to a couple of hours of house frass, an hour long drive out to Delano to drop their s#it off, we BS about all things nautical ("Dad...I think I'd like to own a pontoon"/"No you don't...those things flip over!" We P's rule through fear.) and a beautiful drive through Medina listening to some of pop's old war stories (He needs, NEEDS, to write a book, people. I gave him some homework to write down the names of 10 of his most memorable cases to start. Crafty, I am.) Finally, we returned to frass a little more...

Mom showed up, and she and daddy-o started dicking and frassin' at each other from the get go(They have a lot of shite to move, folks. It seems a little overwhelming at times, I imagine.) After another few hours of labor (This time, crap to go to my house with. Funny that, it's almost like they're trying to pawn of the remaining stuff on me. "Hey guys...Did I agree to take the lawn edger? I think I have one alrea.."/"No, No...you said you'd take it, so take it!") We moved the Lion Statuaries (Heavy, Heavy sumbitches.) and finally, between their frass, the manual labor, standing around topless trying to get some sun, I realized that it was almost 2pm and I hadn't heard from the garage. So, I called the shop to see what the problem was:

Answer?

Nada. Couldn't find it. He recommended I throw in some JB's Tranny Cleaner which should do the trick, and didn't even charge me for the diagnostic. Sweeeeeeet.