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Grease Monkey: A Woman’s Monologue

Debbie Lynn Miller

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by Debbie L. Miller

Ann is a 37-year-old woman.

Oh yeah, cars. Love ’em. Got to be around ’em. I don’t give a damn about how a car looks. It’s the same way I feel about people. Sure, a handsome face can turn my head, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts. My own car looks like a clunker, but mechanically, it’s the safest one on the road.

Cars are like people, they have personalities and different feels. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever run your hand over a car body. Some are smooth, some are rough and gritty. If you run our hand over a car that’s been parked near the ocean its entire life, you can tell by the texture of the paint. You know how they say a surgeon’s hands are special? Well, a mechanic has special hands, too.

When you’re working on a car, all your senses are on alert, even taste. When I’m fixing an engine, if I lick my lips, I taste axle grease.

It takes a special person to work on cars and a talent to understand them. Not everyone can do this type of work. But, we live in a society where anyone who claims to be a mechanic can hang out a shingle.

I am a mechanic, unlike the phonies. I have 300 hours of training and I’m licensed by the state. My mother was a mechanic and so was my dad’s sister. And, my brother. I’ve been around garages since I was old enough to crawl.

I can tell what’s wrong just by listening. If a client describes a noise over the phone, I can diagnose. But, I don’t tell them. I have them bring it in and 95% of the time, I’m right.

People think cars are about grease. Not true. I’ve worked on engines that were clean enough to eat off of. But, sure, you can call me a grease monkey. I don’t mind. I’m proud to be a mechanic.

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Debbie Lynn Miller
Debbie Lynn Miller

Written by Debbie Lynn Miller

Brooklyn satire writer Debbie L. Miller is published in The Belladonna Comedy, Frazzled, The Haven, The StopGap, Greener Pastures, and The Syndrome Magazine.

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