Finding a Good Mechanic in Northern Kentucky. And Remembering the General Lee.
When I was in college I drove an old Mustang. Not a cool old Mustang. A 1979 Indy Pace car. Some of my (guy) friends liked it, but from the beginning I had my suspicions that it was really just a hunk of junk.
When I first test-drove the Mustang, I noticed the brakes were shot. I still remember the owner leaning in through the window and telling me that if I got in a jam, I could always “yank on the emergency brake.” I drove it home at a top speed of 10 miles an hour.
Then the driver’s side door handle quit working. Solution? I left the window down all the time and slipped in through the window when I was ready to go. When you do this upwards of 10 times a day, you perfect the move pretty quickly. The only part of my body that touched the door was my hands. Other than the “yo, General Lee!” and “Hey Bo Duke!” comments it didn’t bother me a bit.
One time my college boyfriend borrowed the Mustang and dropped me off at school. An hour later, he was back.
Me: “What happened?”
Him: “I lost a tire.”
Me: “What do you mean you lost a tire?”
Him: “It fell off when I was driving up the hill.”
Me, ever-concerned for his well-being and safety: “Did you get it back?”
Then I started having muffler problems, the really loud kind of muffler problems. When I’d go through drive-thrus, the impatient order takers would tell me to “Turn off your car. We can’t hear over your engine.” Indignant, when I reached the pay window I’d crisply tell them my car was not too loud, while they all rolled their eyes at each other.
The good old American way of making cars easily (too easily) let you lock your keys in your car. I did it so often I started leaving emergency sets of keys at all of my friends’ houses.
Finally, the floorboards starting rusting, and I had to insert a board under the driver’s seat to prevent it from hanging through the gaping hole. The Mustang quickly went from the General Lee to the Fred Flintstone, as friends joked that I’d need to use my feet to put on the brakes by the end of summer.
When you buy used cars, you take your chances. Your mechanic becomes an entrusted friend and your lifeline to the outside world. I’ve struggled through many a bad garage relationship, until I found Mark’s Garage in Southgate.
I like working with Mark. He’s honest, upfront, and personable, too. He remembers me every time I come in (not often) and he always gives me a lift home when I have to leave my truck at the garage (not often). The mechanics at Mark’s Garage do their thing efficiently, and, just as important, in the timeframe they say they will. The minimum DIY that I attempt has been helped along by Mark, who’s always willing to give out advice.
I don’t drive a pace car now. But I still need to know that I can rely on my mechanic. I’m happy to say that I found my mechanic of choice.
Mark’s Garage
2301 Alexandria Pike
When I first test-drove the Mustang, I noticed the brakes were shot. I still remember the owner leaning in through the window and telling me that if I got in a jam, I could always “yank on the emergency brake.” I drove it home at a top speed of 10 miles an hour.
Then the driver’s side door handle quit working. Solution? I left the window down all the time and slipped in through the window when I was ready to go. When you do this upwards of 10 times a day, you perfect the move pretty quickly. The only part of my body that touched the door was my hands. Other than the “yo, General Lee!” and “Hey Bo Duke!” comments it didn’t bother me a bit.
One time my college boyfriend borrowed the Mustang and dropped me off at school. An hour later, he was back.
Me: “What happened?”
Him: “I lost a tire.”
Me: “What do you mean you lost a tire?”
Him: “It fell off when I was driving up the hill.”
Me, ever-concerned for his well-being and safety: “Did you get it back?”
Then I started having muffler problems, the really loud kind of muffler problems. When I’d go through drive-thrus, the impatient order takers would tell me to “Turn off your car. We can’t hear over your engine.” Indignant, when I reached the pay window I’d crisply tell them my car was not too loud, while they all rolled their eyes at each other.
The good old American way of making cars easily (too easily) let you lock your keys in your car. I did it so often I started leaving emergency sets of keys at all of my friends’ houses.
Finally, the floorboards starting rusting, and I had to insert a board under the driver’s seat to prevent it from hanging through the gaping hole. The Mustang quickly went from the General Lee to the Fred Flintstone, as friends joked that I’d need to use my feet to put on the brakes by the end of summer.
When you buy used cars, you take your chances. Your mechanic becomes an entrusted friend and your lifeline to the outside world. I’ve struggled through many a bad garage relationship, until I found Mark’s Garage in Southgate.
I like working with Mark. He’s honest, upfront, and personable, too. He remembers me every time I come in (not often) and he always gives me a lift home when I have to leave my truck at the garage (not often). The mechanics at Mark’s Garage do their thing efficiently, and, just as important, in the timeframe they say they will. The minimum DIY that I attempt has been helped along by Mark, who’s always willing to give out advice.
I don’t drive a pace car now. But I still need to know that I can rely on my mechanic. I’m happy to say that I found my mechanic of choice.
Mark’s Garage
2301 Alexandria Pike
Southgate, KY 41071
(859) 572-0600
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