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fuck-customers · 4 days

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today, mar 25 2024, a woman came into my red hardware store and dumped her bag of returns on my counter. she said "i have a fucking return. it's all coming the fuck back. i don't need any of this fucking stuff" and i was instantly on edge because she's being loud and every other word was another f-bomb. and i GET IT i get swearing, i get being angry, but why the hell are you upset with me lol i looked at the pile of stuff and was like "oh did you buy this yesterday?" because i recognized the pile of items as things that i had personally rung up at some point. it's a bunch of electrical stuff like outlet covers and some solenoids or wtv. but god i shouldn't've said anything. because she snaps "No what the fuck. i bought this fucking weeks ago. and i dont fucking need it. so i'm returning it"

and i'm like.. damn ok, fine. she's digging for receipts. and has a huge stack of Orange Hardware store receipts. and i'm watching her flip through them and she snaps "go ahead and grab yours if you recognize it!" and i'm like 'uh.. ok i'm pretty sure that my store's receipt is this one' and i pointed at one (idk if its just the font but i recognized my store's receipt and yoinked it out.

so i start processing her return. she's like "ugh i need to go get my card from the car!" and i'm like ok, that's fine. she doesn't really need it for the return but 1) i want her to get away from me because i'm gonna call a manager she's being such an asshole. 2) her friend was looking for other stuff to buy.

she comes back in with her card. i'm like scanning and returning the items. 3 items i KNOW are NOT ours are on the pile. im like.. i don't want to deal with her trying to insist that they belong to our store. but i scan one. it beeps 'item not found' i go 'oh well these items aren't from our store, sorry i can't return them"

and she's like "i dont see how that's fucking possible! everything in that bag is from this fucking store!" and she's just absolutely shrieking. and i don't understand why she's mad, like i don't get it. the manager came up and was like 'we don't sell this product. sorry we can't do a return on it.'

she screams some more but accepts that they must be Orange Hardware and not Red Hardware. She goes out to "make a call while her friend shops"

and i swear to god that she was screaming at someone on the phone for next fourteen minutes and everyone inside the store could hear her from the parking lot. every other word out of this woman's mouth was "fuck" and it was setting my nerves on edge.

her friend finally came up to buy his shit. and it totals $77. she's standing at the door handing him her visa and she is PISSED that the total is $77. she says she doesn't understand how it could add up to that much. and im like uhmmmm.. they're plumping parts.. and the stupid toys you're buying for your grandkids pushed the total to $77 after tax.. either buy it or leave. i don't care

she ended up buying it but you could still hear her swearing up and down the parking lot as she was screaming on the phone with her mother (apparently) saying that she was going to need to be reimbursed for the shit she was buying

and i'm just like... goddamn, i dont care how awful your day is. don't take it out on employees or customers you asshat.

the only funny part about this is the fact that her name was actually Karen. which just made me laugh. but all the other staff had come up to the front to make sure i was okay while she was yelling. and she did get intimidated by some of the men and slink out while her friend paid for the stuff. but still.. a big yikes.

Posted by admin Rodney.

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

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By now, it has become an agonizing cliche that any amount of work on a modern car will terminate in you losing at least one 10-millimetre socket. "Oh no, my 10mm is missing," you'll groan to your friends, who immediately respond with haw-haw looks and jokes. Being the butt of such a horrible stereotype is far worse than losing your socket, which is itself a pretty bad day at work.

There are many techniques that don't work. I myself often write with a Sharpie on the socket "9.5mm," in the hope that it will confuse the curse enough that they will not be lost. I buy ones in weird colours. I use a giant neodymium magnet on the fender so they can't roll away and into the mouth of a nearby blower motor. Nothing works.

Official Chinese government numbers indicate that nearly 60% of the cars their metal recyclers crush, by weight, are 10-millimetre sockets. Your entire washer and dryer set is probably made out of the stuff that fell out of my pockets last year when I was trying to yank an evap solenoid.

Of course, there's a real solution too, and it just happens to be the same kind of solution that capitalism always presents. Buy a whole shitload of 10mms and walk into the junkyard jingling. You can lose a ton of them and not even care, as long as you have one left. This is an appealing vision, to be certain. Everyone wants to Be Prepared... but what happens when the curse moves on to your 12mm, something that is needed nearly as often?

Our scientists, with the help of a psychic that we found all by herself in a completely abandoned shopping mall, have determined an even better fix. We arm one volunteer with a chain-mail coat made entirely of ten-millimetre sockets, and walk their ass into the junkyard. They don't do any wrenching, which would cause them to lose their bounty. All they do is walk around, and when they see someone in crisis, break a socket off and hand it to the stricken victim.

There is a downside: any volunteer who does this is struck with so much positive karma that they start getting a little loopy, and create their own death cult right in the middle of the yard. To keep this from happening again, we have to regularly rotate out the volunteers, and put duct tape over their mouths so they can't start spouting the Good Word until a team of engine-pulling weirdos begin to kill in their name. I admit that the system is a little bit unorthodox, but I've never gotten parts pulled faster.

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exdraghunt · 4 months

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Secret Solonoid gift

This one goes out to @cao-the-dreamer

Mirage/Noah, explicit, sticky

also on Ao3

Though Mirage had been on earth long enough to pick up much of the culture, he still sometimes laughed at jokes that Noah didn’t get. Cybertronian humor, he would always say, waving away his human friend’s confused looks.

This time, it was about Noah complaining about a stuck solenoid valve. For some reason, he couldn’t get the word ‘valve’ out of his mouth without garnering giggles from his Cybertronian friend. Mirage was worse than a group of 8th grade boys in a science class.

“Alright, what’s so funny?” Noah finally asked, hands on his hips.

“Nothing, nothing.” Mirage waved him off. “Cybertronian humor.”

“Nu-uh. That ain’t gonna fly this time, amigo.” Noah fixed him with his best stern look. “Out with it.”

“It’s just. You know. Valves.” Mirage laughed again, obviously finding the word hilarious.

“Yeah. Valves.” Noah didn’t see the connection. “Little things that turn on or off the flow of liquid.”

“But they’re also. Well, you know.” Mirage gestured at his crotch.

“No, I don’t know.” Noah put his hands on his hips. “Explain it to me.”

Mirage made a very illustrative gesture with his hands. A circle with thumb and forefinger on one hand, pointing with the other. Finger in and out of the circle. An, apparently, universal gesture.

“Wait, you guys fuck?” Noah exclaimed in surprise. Yeah, he knew that Cybertronians were sentient and alive, more so than any ‘robot’, but he hadn’t thought they did that.

“Well, yeah.” Mirage said, like it was obvious. “’Cept we call it interfacing, but basically the same thing, right?”

‘Basically the same thing,’ as if learning that the giant alien robots had sex wasn’t totally ground-shaking. “And you call your vaginas ‘valves’?”

“What else would we call them?”

Well, Noah didn’t have a good answer for that. He would never be able to look at Arcee the same way. “So, your lady bots have these valves?”

“No, everybody has them.” Mirage corrected him.

Noah looked at Mirage’s crotch with a bit of morbid curiosity. “Do you, you know, have one?”

“Of course.” Mirage grinned. “Do you wanna see?”

Did he? His brain said ‘no way’ but what came out of his mouth was “Sure.”

The sound of a transformation was familiar to him now, even when it was on a small scale. Plating on Mirage’s crotch clicked and folded away revealing what was underneath.

It looked. Well, it looked like a vagina. Kind of. Noah had never seen one in person, just in photos and dirty magazines, but there were puffy lips bordering a barely-visible hole, and a glowing node poking out at the very top. The main difference is that this was made of metal, and enormous. Noah leaned in a little closer, trying to figure out if the faint glow he was seeing was some sort of lights inside the vagina. No, valve. “Wait, are there lights in there?”

“Heck yeah.” Mirage helpfully spread the lips of his valve, showing off the circular opening and yes, the ring of glowing blue lights inside. “Got a few mods back in the day. Blinged out my valve and my spike.”

“Spike?”

Another micro-transformation, and suddenly Noah was looking at the biggest dick he’d ever seen. It was metal as well, made up of tiny, interlocking plates, and a double row of blue lights decorated the underside from root to tip.

“Wait, you’ve got a dick and a vag?” Was all Noah could think to say.

“Yes?” Mirage seemed amused. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“Uh, no. Humans generally have one or the other.”

“Huh, weird.” Mirage looked at Noah expectantly. “Well. I showed you mine. Aren’t you going to show me yours?”

Which was how Noah ended up standing naked in front of the robot that was both his car and his best friend. His dick was semi-hard, probably from embarrassment, and he shivered slightly in the cool air of the garage.

“It does look a lot like a spike.” Mirage commented. He reached forward and ran the pad of one enormous finger down Noah’s length. When the human shivered this time, it wasn’t due to the cold. “But fuzzy. And what’re these?” He gently prodded Noah’s balls.

“Hey, careful with those.” Noah flinched backwards. “They’re balls, and they’re delicate.”

“Weird.” Mirage said again. He used his thumb and forefinger to give the dangling sack a soft squeeze. “Squishy.”

Noah let out a soft moan, which cut off abruptly in surprise. The two stared at eachother for a moment.

“Oh, you like that?” A shit-eating grin spread across Mirage’s face as he did it again, before running his fingers up to the tip of Noah’s dick. Which was now completely hard and standing at attention. “Want more?”

Suddenly, Noah did. It had been awhile since he’d had a good fuck. But then there was the real question: was he about to fuck a giant alien robot?

Apparently, he was. Though he wasn’t entirely sure how that was going to work. “Uh. Not sure how anything is going to fit.” Because Noah was far too small to do anything for Mirage, and there was no way the mech’s anything was going to fit into his human friend.

Mirage let out a thoughtful hum, “You sure you don’t have a valve?”

“Pretty sure. Closest thing I’ve got is-“ Noah turned around and bent over slightly. He’d bottomed more than once in play, but he was no size queen. There was no way Mirage’s enormous spike was going in him.

Fortunately, Mirage seemed to come to the same conclusion. But then, he stuck out his smallest finger and gave Noah a significant look.

Oh, okay. That actually might work. Except-

“Wait, wait wait.” Noah snatched up his pants. That finger was absolutely not going inside of him dry. “Let me just- We need lube.”

“You don’t make your own?” Mirage questioned.

“Not from there, no. I’ll be right back-“ Noah tugged on his pants and ran out of the garage, heading for his room. There was a half-full bottle helpfully sitting on his nightstand. Snatching it up, Noah hustled back to the garage.

Inside, he found Mirage leaning back and lazily stroking his spike. Root to tip, root to tip, his fingers slowly squeezed and rubbed. He looked up when Noah opened the door. “Got it?”

“Yeah.” Noah held up the bottle and shucked his pants again. With practiced fingers, he squirted out a generous helping and bent over slightly to prepare himself. It had been awhile, and he was tight.

When Noah thought he was ready (or, ready as he’d ever be), he handed the bottle over to Mirage. It looked comically small, pinched between the mech’s thumb and forefinger. “Use that. Lots of it.”

Mirage dutifully emptied the rest of the bottle over his pinkie finger, then tossed it aside and leaned forward. With his clean hand, he scooped up Noah and settled the human in his lap. Fortunately, by this time, Noah was rather used to being picked up unexpectedly by giant robots and laid himself over Mirage’s thigh. Head down, ass up.

No matter how prepared he thought he was, Noah still tensed up when that large, wet digit began to probe at his entrance. It pushed its way in slowly, wiggling past the first tight ring of muscle. Noah took a few deep breaths and tried to relax, though he still let out a shocked grunt when Mirage’s finger finally popped in.

“Slowly, slowly.” Noah arched his back and tried to get used to the stretch. Mirage’s finger wasn’t much like any dick he had taken, being rather hard and made of metal. His muscles clenched around the intrusion, encountering no give in response.

Mirage crooked his finger a little, rubbing against Noah’s prostrate and wringing a moan from the human.

“Oh, is that a sweet spot?” Mirage grinned and did it again, rocking his finger in and out slowly.

Noah rocked with that movement, his dick rubbing against a seam on Mirage’s armor. “Unh, yeah. That feels good.”

“And if I go a little faster?” Mirage sped up the movement, a wet squelch coming from every thrust. Lube spattered against Noah’s thighs and puddled on the floor.

“Shit, Mirage!” Though Noah had been cold when he first stripped, now he was anything but. Cybertronians were warm to the touch, but Mirage’s armor felt cool against Noah’s forehead. He was burning up, the fire burning in his belly spreading through his body.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Mirage’s free hand rubbed up and down Noah’s spine, sending tingles through his body. Then one giant finger went up to rub the human’s hair. “You humans are so furry, it’s weird.”

“Don’t-“ Noah gasped.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make fun while you’re fucking me.” Noah’s fingers curled into a gap in Mirage’s armor, brushing the wiring underneath.

Mirage’s big thigh shuddered underneath him, and the mech made an approving noise. “Only if you do that again.”

Was this what a Cybertronian found arousing? Having their wiring played with? Noah obligingly dug his fingers deeper, hoping to god that Mirage didn’t shift and crush his hand.

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” Mirage encouraged him, stretching his leg out a little more. Electricity crackled over his plating, sending zaps like static up Noah’s arm and making his hair stand on end.

The surge went straight to his dick which, if possible, became even harder. Noah rocked his hips more insistently, his dick sliding against the smooth plating of Mirage’s inner thigh. Another electrical surge came, and Noah came with it. He shuddered, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he erupted all over Mirage’s plating. When he came to, the finger had been removed from his ass and Mirage’s messy hand was helping hold him up.

“So, I take it you enjoyed that?” Mirage asked in his smarmy way.

“Yeah, yeah.” Noah panted, waiting for his legs to stop shaking and support his weight again. “It was pretty good.”

“Best you ever had, I bet.” Mirage said with absolutely no shame at all.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Noah wiped his mouth and stood, looking down at the mess of cum dripping down Mirage’s thigh.

“You can clean that up later.” Mirage spread his legs a little wider. “But now, I think it’s my turn.”

“Your turn.” Noah looked at his friend’s intimate bits, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to do that. “Hmm.”

He rubbed hand over Mirage’s valve, circling the glowing node at the top curiously. That got him a gasp, an encouraging sign. Moving lower, Noah slid his hand inside and rubbed against the glowing lights there.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah.” Mirage put a giant hand on Noah’s back and pushed him a little more firmly against his crotch.

Noah was shoved deeper, until his arm was buried up to his shoulder. The inside of Mirage’s valve was hot and wet, squeezing around his arm with rings of something like muscle. It was nothing like Noah’s previous experiments with fisting. It was more like he was artificially inseminating a cow or something.

Okay, not a mental image he needed in his brain while doing this. Noah formed his hand into a fist and pulled his arm out before thrusting it back in. With his other hand, he toyed with the lights decorating Mirage’s spike. He had no hope of actually wrapping a hand around the appendage, but hopefully the biolights there were as sensitive as the one on his valve.

His guess must have been correct, because Mirage’s engine turned over with a rumble, vibrating Noah’s arm as though he had stuck it under the mech’s hood. “That feeling pretty good?”

“Pit yes, don’t stop!” Mirage cried, heels sliding against the concrete floor of the garage with an ugly scraping sound. The many interlocking armor plates that covered his frame shifted and flared, vents dumping heat from his frame. There was a glow coming from his chest, from the plate that Noah knew covered the mech’s spark.

More zaps of static arced over Mirage’s frame, and all of the hair on Noah’s body stood on end as the energy traveled up his arm. Noah sent up a brief prayer that this wouldn’t end with him getting electrocuted. Or burned, as Mirage was getting alarmingly hot from his ministrations.

“Right there!” Mirage’s hand pushed on him more insistently, and Noah ended up pressed up against the mech’s soft valve.

Mirage’s glowing node was right next to his face. Noah regarded it for a moment, wondering if the copious amounts of lubricant covering the two of them would wreak havoc on his digestive system.

Deciding that the risk was worth it, Noah wrapped his mouth around the node and sucked. It was like licking a live wire, and his tongue and lips almost immediately went numb. But the way that Mirage shook underneath him, soft whines falling from his lips, was reward enough.

Noah kept himself moving. One arm pistoning in and out of Mirage’s valve, the other rubbing up and down his spike, and his mouth licking at that sensitive node.

“Primus, Noah!” Mirage threw his head back and screamed, back impacting the wall of the garage and cracking the concrete. Electricity arced over his frame like lightning, and Noah was quick to pull back just in case. He really didn’t want to get electrocuted.

An orgasm in a Cybertronian was apparently a whole production. Clear, thick lubricant gushed from Mirage’s valve, while a silver fluid like cum shot from his spike. It spurted all over Noah, coating him from head to toe. Though it tingled slightly, it didn’t seem to be corrosive or otherwise poisonous (thank god.)

“Slag-“ Mirage breathed out, frame going limp. The zaps of energy died out, and the flaring of his spark dimmed back to normal levels. “Slag. That was good. You aren’t bad at that, Noah.”

“Gee, thanks.” Noah held up his arms, watching the silver cum drip down onto the floor.

Mirage snorted, which progressed into a full on laugh. As Noah watched, the mech slumped against the wall with wheezing laughter. “Ahaha, Primus. Noah, you look- you’re covered.”

“I noticed.” Noah responded drily. “Now, you gonna help me clean up?”

Fortunately, there was a hose in the garage. And though it didn’t have hot water, the coolness was refreshing against his heated skin. Mirage helpfully scrubbed him down with a rag, making sure all the robot cum was out of his hair and washed from his back. Dirty water ran down his legs and swirled around the drain. Noah made sure to wash out his butt as well, shivered as the cold water invaded his innards.

“You know, I never a thought a human would be so good at this.” Mirage commented as he turned the hose onto himself, sluicing away the mess on his thighs. “Had practice before?”

“Not on a robot.” Noah located a towel and rubbed at his hair. “But with human guys, yeah.”

“Human guys.” Mirage snorted. “Well, you won’t need them anymore.”

Noah cocked an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah? Am I not allowed to have boyfriends now?”

“You’ve got me.” Mirage reached out to poke Noah in the chest. “You’ve been inside me, man. In every way that matters. That makes us bros. No, more than bros. We’re-“ He struggled for a moment, obviously trying to find the words in human language. “We’re like, Endura.”

“Well, if you can do that again, I might consider it.” Noah grinned. “Cause I gotta admit, that was pretty good. I won’t be opposed to discovering more.”

Mirage grinned. “I think I can do that.”

@secretsolenoid-revived

#valveplug

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identifying-cars-in-posts · 9 months

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thoughts on the funky little 2000’s impreza outback sports? im looking into buying one >:3 its been sitting in a parking lot for ~6 months and supposedly just needs solenoids and fluids (and probably a battery, though the thing looks brand new so im gonna try and charge it first) to get running.

oh those are solid, late 90s through early 2000s subarus are the best ones imo. if it’s been sitting just check all the seals and gaskets, those can get stiff or break down a bit if they sit. subarus are known for blowing head gaskets so one that’s been sitting should almost certainly have an eye kept on it. but i doubt six months is long enough to do sizeable damage, i’ve had a car sit that long and start right up no problem (granted it was a corolla). assuming everything’s good have fun with your new subaru!

#not a car id #asks #beanly

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babbling-idiot2 · 2 years

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Can I ask for something with Specs? There is practically nothing for him :') preferably smut but that’s up to you

When you had met specs, it was only by chance. You had been asked for direction by tucker. Soon Specs had walked over, asking what was taking so long. When he saw you his first reaction was shock. He was speechless at seeing you. Now later down the road you ended up meeting again and this led to you and him being a couple. He always seemed so happy to see you when you walked into the room or when he walked into the room. He always smiled at you and looked at you like you were an angel. This was perfection. This was his best moment ever. Even Elise liked you, she even suggested that specs, despite him being the awkward one in the room, should ask you out on a date. Which he always did, plus the awkward moments. But you loved that about him. You loved how awkward and nervous he always seemed. But when it came to trying to be intimate or affectionate, he always shrunk on himself. He didn't try to further the situation. Not that he didn't want to, but he was unsure of himself. He didn't want to disappoint you with his inexperience. Truth be, he has had sex before, but that was the one time. And this was you, you deserved perfection. And he didn't think he was it. But you were sure, you were going to make him believe it.

The next day when you arrived at Elise's house you were met with both her and tucker. She quickly mentioned how she needed to go to the store and tucker obviously only going so he could get more pizza pockets. Before they got in Elise's car, they told you specs was inside. You walked in and began your search for him. He was at the dining table looking at something on his computer. He seemed quite occupied by whatever was on the screen. So much in fact he didn't even see you walking up and behind him. When the time was right you leant down and whisper in his ear. He jumped at the sudden fright and looked over his shoulder only to be met by a smiling you who seemed to get quite the quick of his reaction. "Well, I sure am happy to see you today. I've missed your face." He says as you lean down to give him a hug from behind. "Yes, and I've missed yours. I wanted to come by and see if you wanted to have dinner at my place tonight. I know you're working, and anything can come up, but I really wanted to spend time with you." You say as you take a seat next to him. "Actually, my whole schedule is clear this week. I am all yours tonight." "All mine huh? That gives me a few ideas, if you know what I mean." He seems to flush at what you're implying. He pushes his glasses up so they are secure and smiles slightly. "Well, I would certainly like to know what ideas you have in mind." "You'll see later tonight." You say as you get up after patting his hand. "Oh, that reminds me, what would you like me to make, or order if you rather have take-out?" He actually starts to think about it and a split moment idea come to him. "Well take-out sounds good, but a home cooked meal is great. But honestly, I think if rather have you." It almost feels like the air is being sucked out of you at that. He's always been funny, adorable, a bit awkward but never straight forward and it put you off for a moment. He sees this moment and panics "I shouldn't have said that that was not good timing. -" "That was rather smooth, I’ll give you that one." You start to laugh a bit "I liked that. But on a real note, I think I'll do some take out, considering you've had a few homecooked meals already done for you by Elise. I'll see you at my house at say 6? 7?" He coughs and nods his head "I'll be there at 6." You smile and walk out the front door. For a hot solenoid he thinks to himself if you'd actually take him up on what he said. Sure, it was meant for a little laugh or giggle but, the way you smiled at it made him think otherwise. But truth be told that was one smooth ass line.

(Ok, so before you start hating me for how slow I am to updating. I had some family stuff going on and my work hours are all screwed up, but hopefully I can produce something for the people who support me on this platform. Enjoy!)

#specs x reader #specs headcanon #specs #insidious #leigh whannell

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noodleblade · 5 months

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is it okay to send you fic requests 👉👈 i really love your writing 💛

Absolutely:3 I have uhhhhh about 10 in my inbox that I've been working on so it may not get answered right away and may take a while

(sg!simpatico anon, im so sorry for the months of waiting but I am working on it ;-----; and i hope you like it once i finish it...it got much longer than anticipated).

I'm going on "vacation" in a few days and will have ample time to write as I sit in a car for many hours and also avoid my family members as much as possible x--x so I'm hoping to clear out my inbox a bit and also work on my secret solenoid gift <3

#anonymous #asks #i should really make a pinned #one day

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tammyfeabakker · 2 years

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Ok... My car...had it to another mechanic. He said it's the trans. I think it's the shift solenoid. not that I'm a mechanic. but it's a hard shift from 2nd to 3rd. I have no other problems. I Google it. hard shift 2 to 3. Solenoid. anyway I decided to sell it. buy my gf car. well the last time I spoke to her. She was selling it for 3000. The peeps in the hood told her she could get 6 or 7 grand for it. I'm like yeah if it's a dealership. CarMax is all over the place... CarMax would only buy her car for 3 grand. Then sell it for 6or7. Anyway not that I'm being greedy or anything. but as a friend in need. don't you think she should sell it me for what the car is worth? which is 3 grand... It's a Saturn for God sakes. I definitely would sell it to her for 3 . Because she needed it. Am I being overly sensitive or is she being totally insensitive?

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saltedsolenoid · 2 years

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syndey you mysterious little silly guy ............... what is the lore

ah, Child Streets! so glad you asked!

My 'lore,' as the mutuals so call it, is incomprehensible, cryptic, and self-contradictory beyond belief. It's an arduous task to understand, a beguiling mystery even to those who have lived with me for the time I've been alive! (also a conundrum.)

But I can try to simplify it down, as to create a well-rounded introduction to my Tumbelrs Page.

I was born one February 10th in a car, and might have been dropped in the snow as a child. Colorado (where I might live) is just like that, man. Some other stuff happened, I grew up rather uneventfully (lie), and then something something whatever blah blah blah so on, so forth--

And thus, here we arrive! Sydney Solenoid, (as i pronounce my first and last name-- i can only remember names if i have a first and last name to go off of, thus why i tend to give all of of you mutuals strange combination names) is on Turmbelr, and is likely here to stay! Because I grow attached very easily and for very long times.

Thank you all for coming to my LorePosting, Hope You Bastards (affectionate) Enjoyed!

#i might have misunderstood my own lore?#child kid #did you want to know my math class or something?#or maybe my long-standing attachment issues?#idk anyways enjoy!#ask

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underwatersolenoid · 1 year

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Valve systems play a crucial role in maintaining a vehicle lubrication level

Either as an individual or as a group, having a car in good condition is one of the ways to improve your mobility. With a vehicle, you can be in multiple places every day and attend to different needs. Having a car of your own can be a bit easy. Still, the biggest challenge of having an automobile lies in maintaining and keeping it in good condition.

Since vehicles have different parts, it will be necessary for you to understand each of the make-ups to know how to respond in case any part develops faults. One area you should be mindful of in your vehicle is the valve system seal. These seals play a crucial role in controlling lubrication as the valve stem moves up and down the guide. In this write-up, you will be learning tips on what valve stem seals represent and immediately identifying faults at an early stage under different conditions. Below are some of the precautions you should take as regards your vehicle valve stem seals.Types of valve stem sealsValve stem seals come in two different types, namely defector seal, which is also known as umbrella seals, and positive seals. The defector seals work hand-in-hand with the valve stem, ensuring the lubricant that gets into the valve guide does not exceed the needed amount. Positive seals, on the other hand, help in controlling oil consumption and hydrocarbon emissions. With this feature properly in place, only a slip of oil passes through to lubricate the valve guide.Valve system failure under different conditions:You will notice some changes when the valve guide begins to wear due to age or excessive oil presence in the oil valve guide. Below is a list of unique symptoms you should be on the lookout for on valve system failure. Excessive smoke When the valve seal condition has become damaged, the blue-white exhaust colors will take a different look after acceleration and engine start-up. At the same time, the smoke generated by the exhaust tends to disappear after the engine has worked for a while or under a hot weather condition. Excessive oil consumption Under normal circumstances, if the vehicle engine, rings, and valve guides are in good condition, there is little to no loss of oil.Wholesale Solenoid Valve Factory. But the reverse is the case if the valves become bad. At this point, vehicle oil consumption becomes excessive. Lack of acceleration powerWhen you notice your vehicle acceleration power seems to be dropping, that might be a clear indicator of a bad valve seal. However, this submission is not conclusive. You can carry out a compression test to validate whether the fault is from your valve seal or other parts. If the compression level is high, it indicates a valve problem. But if otherwise, it will mean a ring problem.

Conclusion Valve systems play a crucial role in maintaining a vehicle lubrication level as well as oil consumption level. To keep your vehicle in good condition, you must not overlook any slight fault at the inception stage, particularly in the valve stem system. Thankfully, this article has discussed some essential information you should know to help you manage your valve stem system and vehicle lubrication processes better.

#Wholesale Solenoid Valve Factory

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coreymichaelsmithson · 1 year

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I Gave My Heart To The Junkman

Yesterday I sold my best friend to a stranger for $315.

This was, of course, far less than what a 2005 Kia Sedona ought to fetch, even for scrap alone. There were certainly a lot of useful parts still tucked inside ... but beyond any question of material worth, the sentimental value was incalculable. After all, I had poured so many financial and emotional resources into this long-term relationship, and steadfastly made repairs whenever the need arose, and had shown more unflagging devotion to this soccer-mom minivan than I had for some of my boyfriends, jobs, teeth, and homes. She was my first car, and like any first love, a first car carries a special significance.

I bought my Pamela in March of 2017, springing her from a dusty little shitpot in Bonner Springs, Kansas. I paid $2300 in cash for her, and easily poured ten times that amount into repairs. In just under six years, I replaced her starter, radiator, alternator, thermostat (twice), drive shafts, brakes, catalytic converters, power steering pump, rear shocks, rack and pinion, tie rods, hub and bearing, window motor, door actuator, timing belt, alternator belt, EGR valve, purge solenoid, charcoal canister, air conditioning compressor, cooling fan, valve cover gasket, tensioner and idler pulleys, exhaust Y-valve, oxygen sensors, hood struts, coils, hoses, filters, batteries, rear window, and three camshaft position sensors. We broke down in Iowa, Colorado, Washington, and Florida. We blew tires in Wisconsin, Oklahoma, Minnesota, and Georgia. I got to know the various components of my vehicle, one by one, as they fell apart.

Last week, she failed to start. In and of itself, this wasn't anything new, as she had crapped out so often in the past. But this time felt different, somehow. There was something so final about this silence. I knew, in that moment, that Pamela just didn't want to go any further. She had gone far enough.

With a heavy heart, I made arrangements with the junkman to come cart her away. I took the next few days to clean her out, retrieving all the tools, camping gear, and souvenirs I had stashed in her crates and cargo areas. The last thing I removed was the bobbing statue of Hula Girl, which I had glued to the dashboard back in Missouri. Her nose had gotten chipped in Iowa, when a sudden crosswind thwacked my camera's lens cap across her face ... but her irrepressible smile and cheerful ALOHA had accompanied me for over 99,700 miles, and I couldn't bear to leave her behind. I did, however, tear off the last few shreds of her disintegrating grass skirt, which no longer afforded her any dignity.

I sat for a long while in the driver's seat, holding the wheel that had been in my hands for thousands of hours. Its foam grip had been shredded by the stress of too many white-knuckled rides, all those times when I prayed for us to make it through blinding downpours or snowstorms or terrifying deep country two-lanes or narrow construction zones.

Sitting there, like a kid playing vroom vroom in the family car, I recounted some of our many adventures aloud. "Remember driving down the Vegas Strip? That supercell catching up with us in Valentine? That sunset in the wind farm? Heading out to the Olympic Coast? Devil's Tower? Ed Gein's place? Tinkertown? Bonneville? Waco? That refinery by Dodge City? Sunrise at Monument Valley? That one flat we got in Viroqua, and the farmer helping us change it? Dawn at Cades Cove? Those little hilltop dairy farms in The Driftless? The Badlands? The rim of Bryce Canyon? The meadow in South Park? The pueblos at Bandelier? Finding the trail at Butler Wash? The caves of Maquoketa? Picking up that hitchhiker in Dinosaur? Taking the Mountain Loop Highway up to Big Four? Morning mist on Steamboat Slough? The salmon run at Granite Falls? Taking the Alaskan Way Viaduct? Running along the Skykomish? The vultures on 312? Shiloh? Hooking up with the guys at Magnetic Springs? Going up Mt. Baker?" This went on for ages. Each memory brought to mind another, and another, experiences strung in sequence like beads on a string, a rosary of perils and deeds. After about ten minutes, my soliloquy devolved into a précis ... all I had to do was murmur "Kitty Hawk" and we returned immediately to one of the worst nights in our history, when we had to drive 700 miles through a tornado outbreak with a busted alternator and half a dozen batteries, sometimes driving blind in the rain without headlights or windshield wipers. We had so many close calls in our time together, and our survival sometimes seemed miraculous.

Finally, words failed me, and I wept. I sat there, finding myself once again broke and broken, a few weeks shy of turning forty-nine, devastated at another huge loss, crying my eyes out because my car wouldn't start.

Pamela had listened to me laugh, scream, sing. She heard my deepest secrets, my most buried fears, all the things I will never share with another living soul. She held space, literally and figuratively, as I processed early traumas, the kinds of injuries that had to be coaxed out of my soul like splinters. She kept me company as I mourned lost friendships, raged at failed opportunities, exulted over spiritual and professional victories, learned the lyrics to dozens of showtunes, and sifted through the smoldering wreckage of too many love affairs. She saw me at my very best and my very worst.

We traveled from coast to coast, crossed the Mississippi dozens of times, explored every kind of terrain in the continental US. We'd chased after tornadoes in Nebraska, dodged hailstones the size of tangerines in Oklahoma, coasted into Death Valley with squealing brakes, gunned through the Cascades on bald tires. We'd raced across salt flats and skidded out on gravel roads and slid on ice and got stuck in the mud. We climbed narrow mountain roads, corkscrewing upwards like a buggy in a Disney darkride, and were rewarded near the summits by whispering aspen groves and skies the color of lead. We followed thunderheads across hundreds of miles of cornfields, doubled back to photograph collapsing barns, got lost and found and lost again. We nearly ran out of gas on a stretch of moonlit desert, and were almost forced off the road by a madman near Mexican Hat. We saw insect swarms, murmurations of starlings, clouds rising from firs, incandescent sunsets, fogbound highways at 4:am, hazy feedlots, mine shafts, floodwaters, dust devils, wildfires. She had given me a treasury of beauty.

Pamela drove me to jobs in corporate office demolition, sanitation, construction site cleanup, disaster services, aerospace manufacturing, warehouse fulfillment, toy merchandising, and food delivery. She waited in parking lots while I went skydiving and whitewater rafting and hiking, while I ate, slept, got laid, gathered sharks' teeth, watched lions mate, and raised a circus tent. She carried me to zoos, sex clubs, cemeteries, battlefields, dormant volcanoes, dams, lighthouses, shipwrecks, museums, rodeos, waterfalls, weird roadside attractions, a nude beach, a monastery, a cassowary ranch, and the homes of countless friends. We saw Monterrey, Santa Fe, Orlando, Tukwila, Minneapolis, Fort Sumner, Little Rock, Mukilteo, Pensacola, Oso, Tulsa, Jupiter, Oakland, Bellingham, Eureka Springs, St. Louis, Mosca, Wichita, Portland, Pahrump, Ocracoke, Waco, Memphis, Sarasota, Montgomery, Estes Park, Vernal, Coeur d'Alene, Peoria, Birmingham, Lumberton, Des Moines, Topeka, Darwin, Beaverton, Bemidji, Enid, Deadwood, Hot Springs, Cullman, Austin, Ocean Springs, Chattanooga, Carlinville, Abilene, Darrington, Nashville, Moab, Pagosa Springs, McEwen, and innumerable parks, farms, rivers, and valleys. She took me to Judy Garland's birthplace in Grand Rapids and my own origin point in Ellensburg. We killed a hare near Ogallala and drove below arches made of lightning. We endured for far too long the joyless mazes of suburbia. She brought me into and back out of my homeland. She was my home at times.

Yesterday, a tow truck showed up on Reef Drive, our residence for the last four years. Pamela was marooned just behind her usual spot, along a hedge at the front of the property, in the shade of a nearby palm. A flock of scarlet ibises used to roost on her roof, and a clowder of feral kittens sometimes took shelter beneath her when it rained. There was a big rectangle where the grass had long ago given up and stopped growing. All of this was about to change.

The junkman was a friendly, toothless old chap named Thomas, and he had been doing this job for decades. His skin had been leathered by the sun, his hair bleached into straw, and save for the ball cap and tee shirt he looked exactly like a Gold Rush prospector. On his flatbed slumped a '71 Ford Bronco which had clearly seen better days. In any other circumstances, I'd be delighted to photograph such a wreck ... its windows were blown out, most of its panels were rusted, and it had an appealing patina of green mold, the sort of picturesque decay that I've spent decades documenting. But now it all seemed just too sad for words ... two old vehicles, far past their prime, being taken out to pasture. I thought of how horses used to get shot if they couldn't be ridden anymore.

Thomas indicated that my car seemed to be in pretty salvageable shape, though, and that she was likely to undergo a refurb rather than being scrapped altogether. This gave me a ray of hope that perhaps Pamela might yet play a special role in somebody else's life, and that just because our road had come to an end did not mean she herself was destined for oblivion.

I told him a little about the vehicle he was buying, how famous she was, how there were loyal followers around the world who had been cheering her on for the past several years. "This isn't just a car," I said. "Pamela's been through a lot. She's special." I told him about the memoir I published last year, about how we had traveled together over the whole country and seen the most incredible sights. He nodded and smiled and feigned interest, as he pointed out the numerous papers for me to sign off on. Then he handed me a check, which seemed pitifully small in my hands, and he set about hooking my poor old hooptie onto the tow rig.

I'd witnessed this ritual so many times ... the slow humiliating whine as my baby got hoisted into position, the rattle of chains around her undercarriage, the sinking helpless feeling as the tow truck lurched forward. I had already seen her get pulled away when her radiator blew up in Boulder, when her starter crapped out in Bothell, when her fuel lines got clogged in St. Augustine. But this time was different. This time there would be no joyful reunion at the shop. I stood across the street, and the reality of the situation hit me full force. Pamela, the car who had transformed my entire life, who had freed me from a desperately unhappy stint in Kansas City, who had framed most of America in her windshield, was leaving me forever. In a few minutes, she would disappear, and that would be that.

It's different in the movies, when a love story wraps up. Your heroes ride off into the sunset together, and the music swells, and THE END appears in big fancy letters over the clouds. And as the credits roll and you stand and brush popcorn from your lap you enjoy a tidy sense of closure. There is a clear sense of something having been finished, of a narrative having reached its rightful conclusion. My last few minutes with this minivan, on the other hand, felt weirdly anticlimactic and unsatisfying. I caught a few seconds of video on my phone as the tow truck began its journey. Then I just stood in the middle of the road with my arms hanging limply at my sides and watched as the most meaningful possession of my life rolled away, growing smaller and smaller until she reached the end of the block. And then the tow truck rounded the corner, and left my view altogether, and my Pamela was finally gone.

"Goodbye, old girl," I said, wiping my eyes. "Goodbye." Then I went back to my studio, returned to my easel, picked up a brush, and began the search for a new frontier.

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