Have you ever wondered why certain Jeep owners seem to have innate mechanical ability? What sets them apart from their mouth-breathing brethren? Other than minor details, such as actual know-how, a proper appearance is what sets the stage. To avoid embarrassment when working on my Jeep, the choice was simple. I could acquire the proper mechanical knowledge, an iffy proposition that would take years and require lots of effort, or I could get a mechanic's shop coat.
For those who are unaware, a shop coat looks like something a scientist would wear in a laboratory. Slip it on over whatever you happen to be wearing and your IQ immediately rises. The effect does have its limits, so wearing two at once offers no additional benefit. Please note I'm refraining from making a cheap joke that this is only an outer garment, meaning one must still wear something underneath. Whatever you do, don't choose a shop coat that looks like a bathrobe when viewed from a distance. The neighbors have literally seen enough of me looking under the hedges for the morning newspaper. They'll have one less cause for concern if they can see that I've gotten dressed before spending the afternoon working on the Jeep.
It was quite the surprise to learn about the shop coat's magical image-enhancing properties. The initial idea was to prevent trashing my clothing with gear oil or other Jeep effluents. How often have you started fiddling on your Jeep without changing into work clothes, expecting to simply poke under the hood for a few minutes? Several hours later, the carb rebuild is well underway or the transmission has been wrestled to the ground for an overhaul. As a guy, you won't even notice that your formerly good clothes contain enough oil to ignite spontaneously. The only reasonable option is disposal in a bonfire, but instead they go on top of your wife's favorite sweater in the hamper.
I now look like a pro when wrenching on the Jeep and haven't trashed any clothes in the process. The downside, however, is that I was lured into a shameful double life. The idea for a shop coat came from a newspaper ad for a discount tool store. I've always been a tool snob and was very reluctant to shop at such a place. Look in my toolbox and you'd have seen only the top brands.
How could I shop there with my reputation to uphold? Luckily, I was able to park at a nearby strip club to avoid shaming my family should anybody recognize my car. My quick foray into the store bogged down upon encountering a sale on shop rags, all nicely hemmed and professional looking. For clean-up duty in the garage, it would be nice to have something better than the ratty old underwear I'd been using. (While absorbent enough, putting them back on afterward was never pleasant.)
The store offered mystery brands that sounded suspiciously close to the top-quality names. I reasoned with myself that the top brands weren't always needed. Peel off the tags and who would know? It all started out so innocently, with a legitimate need for the shop coat and even the rags. Before I knew it, I was looking at all sorts of shop equipment. Like a vegetarian secretly craving a Reuben sandwich, I slithered back into the home of cheap tools time and time again.
I always felt so dirty afterward. My high standards plummeted with each visit. That big hydraulic press would make short work of an upcoming differential rebuild. That sandblaster would be ideal for cleaning up rusty, old Jeep parts. When sandpaper discs were needed for autobody work, it was cheaper to just keep buying those $10 angle-grinder sets. My new anvil seemed impressive, but my friends said it was made overseas from poor-quality metal and was probably not even heat treated. In my defense, there were five raised letters on the side, apparently an acronym, which I understood to mean "Constructed and Hardened In North America."
Things seemed under control until the morning I awoke in front of the tool store and couldn't remember how I got there. I'd been seduced into thinking I was a mechanical genius because I looked the part and had an expansive collection of tools. It was time to take action so I'd never again find myself shivering on a cold sidewalk. Fortunately for me, a shipment of flannel-lined shop coats had just arrived. It must have been my lucky day because the 12,000-piece bungee cord set was on sale too.-- Dr. Vern