Oct 3, 2014 3 min read

I’m not a very mechanical guy. When I was younger, I studied art, philosophy and literature. I never learned how to change my own oil. Usually when something breaks, I call my brother, Rick.

Unfortunately, Rick moved to Ohio. He said he moved for a job, but I think he left so he didn’t have to fix my stuff.

Aside: I lied. A few weeks ago, he was in town for a horseshoe tournament and replaced my shower head. I slept through his installation. I woke up, went to take a shower and noticed I had better water pressure all of a sudden. It was like having a house elf. By the way, I am sorry to say the relationship has not been reciprocal. He has never called me in a panic in dire need of a humorous 500-word essay.

I was mowing the lawn last Saturday, like I do, when I stopped the engine to chat with my neighbor, Eddie. I couldn’t get it started again. Eddie asked, “When’s the last time you replaced the air filter?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. The correct answer, for those of you who may have already guessed it, was “never.” Eddie removed the lid to the air filter, cleaned out the grass and showed me the blackened filter. We cleaned it up as best as we could and put it back in the mower. I was able to finish the last couple of rows. Then, I grabbed the filter back out and got in my car and drove to the big-box-warehouse-hardware-and-appliance store (rhymes with “nose”).

In oil-stained jeans and a grass-stained T-shirt, I, at least, looked like I belonged in there. I took the air filter to the lawn care section. I stared at it. Like a game of Old Maid, I searched for a match. None of the filters looked like the one I had in my hand. Yes, I know they were white and mine was darker than burnt toast, but I was looking for a similar size and shape. I still didn’t find one. I had to call the guy for help. I pressed the button and waited. And waited. Then, a guy in a red vest came over, but he was stolen away from me by a couple looking at riding mowers. I pressed the call button, and he was helping them! They stole my sales associate! I pressed the button again.

Eventually the sales associate came over to me. He confirmed they didn’t have a match for my Old Maid air filter. The guy, let’s call him Chad (because I think that was his actual name), said, “We need to order you a new one. What kind of lawn mower do you have?”

“Um. An orange one.”

The funny thing is, I was taught while studying journalism to “be observant.” Yeah. I ran that mower for three summers in a row and never knew the make or model. I went home without an air filter.

Eddie was working on his lawnmower when I came home. He had to go to a different hardware store and get a part. I wrote down the name and model of the mower, and he took my air filter with him. His mission was much more successful than mine. I got my air filter.

At least I didn’t have to call my brother. So, I’m putting this in the win column.