Grease Frightening II

On the Saturday before my scheduled departure, I agreed to give my sister a ride home. On the way, she requested that we stop at the super market. I still needed a few things for my trip, so I complied.

Everybody, upon hearing that I was driving a 25 year-old car, had the following advice: “Make sure you add oil. Don’t let the oil get low.” This seemed to be a good idea, and so I bought myself a gallon of diesel engine oil (it didn’t come in quarts). While my sister shopped, I began pouring. The oil didn’t reach the top of the tank, as one might expect, so I emptied the entire gallon and hoped it was enough. That was probably one of the biggest mistakes I’d ever made with a vehicle, so far anyways.

We made it out of the parking lot, and we were 100 feet down the road when my mistake became apparent. The engine made a strange noise, and the accelerator stuck. I released the accelerator and it eventually came back. I should have pulled over. The accelerator got stuck again, and this time it didn’t come back. My driver-ed class came rushing into my head... shift to neutral, pull over, park, emergency blinkers, engine off. As I performed the final step, something was wrong. Though I’d pulled the key out, the engine didn’t stop. In fact, it started roaring louder and louder, with the RPM needle way into the red. A plume of smoke rose from under the hood. I was worried for my car, and my trip south. My older sister, with more common sense than I had, was worried for her own life, and with her son bolted from the vehicle. “Oh, right!” I thought to myself, and I got out and started running, but there was a noise coming from the car... a crying noise! My little sister was still in her seat. I bolted back into the smoke, managed to find the door, and grab my little sister. Once she was out of the smoke, I went back in one last time, and flipped the switch from “Diesel” to “Grease”. There was no grease in the tank, so the engine would have nothing left to burn. After a few moments, my plan worked, and the car finally stopped, emitting a few final blasts of fire from the exhaust pipe.

“I didn’t know that Volkswagens came with after-burners.” joked my 9 year-old nephew.

The police we’re quick to arrive on the scene. Someone must have mistaken the smoke for an engine fire and dialed 911. The officer kindly called a tow for me, and gave my older sister and her son a ride home. Our Dad came to take my younger sister home, leaving me with the vehicle. For the first time, I realized what an engine fire would have meant, had that been what happened: there was over two gallons of oil in the engine, fifteen gallons of diesel in the tank, and forty gallons of grease in the trunk. The poor car would have burnt ‘till doomsday.

On Monday, the mechanic never got to my car, despite my frantic calls. Tuesday morning he finally called me, and asked if I’d like to come over and learn something. He showed me how to change the oil, how much to put in (both minimum and maximum), and how to change the oil filter, if necessary.

His final words of advice we’re, “Take it slow today, don’t just take off on a 1,300 mile road trip. If you did any damage to the engine, only time will tell.”

Time would tell.

Part I
Part IV
Part V