'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

Saga, Pt. III, with a cut this time

[story started here]
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Two Humanoids and a Mechanical Conundrum
or
Is It Just Me, Or Are These Chapters Getting Longer?
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CHAPTER THREE, In Which Sleeves Are Rolled Up, Messes Are Made, and Portly Handily-Challenged Humanities Folk Get Sweaty and Angular

Sunday morning, on the spur of the moment, I called up ol' squirrelykat to see if she wanted to get breakfast. I didn't have anything planned for the day but an evening movie (Junebug) (which was good---go see it!), and I was delighted that our Juli was available. We got us some grub, stopped by the library (where we tried in vain to find Daniel J. Bennett's picture in the recent A2 "Snooze" [as BTK calls it]---somebody'd taken that section), and then parted company for the day. I had a good stretch of free time in front of me, and it was a nice day, so instead of the always-available yardwork I decided it was, once and for all, Time for the antenna project.

I opened the back hatch & took a look at my various instructions. I'd already gathered needle-nose and 2 other pairs o' pliers, some screwdrivers, and a flashlight. Oh, and the broken-off antenna cable thingie had fallen out, but I'd kept it for feeding back into the hole to see where it went. Where it went was not visible from the interior panel, even through its gaps. Nonetheless I arrived at a hypothesis of which nuts to take off, despite the mild panic I was holding at bay that it seemed increasingly likely I'd be needing to take apart the whole side interior wall there (behind the now-peeled-back insulation), with its mysterious electrical cables, the tube feeding the rear wiper fluid, and who knows what else that'd eventually need proper putting back into place.

Relatively easily, my needle-noseys got the thing holding the old antenna base off the mounting space on the exterior of the vehicle. But back inside, I couldn't get that chosen nut off that chosen bolt. I didn't have the right tool, see. Pliers + Elbow Grease < Necessary Torque.

I grabbed the cell phone and used a satellite to call 50 yards away to neighbor BTK, asking if I could borrow what I'm pretty sure is called a wrench (the fitted arc-or-hexagon thingies, or one of those instantly-form-fitting ones they hawk on TV now and then). Our Bert fetched a variety of options for me, which I then retrieved from his place.

Back at the Dawber I wrenched (yeah, that must be the name) that nut off & removed a coupla screws from the other end of a loopy bracket thingie that seemed to connect to what must be the salient stuff, though I still lacked a clear vision of what exactly I was removing. I'd kinda felt around up in there and figured the base of what I was out to install needed to connect up there somewhere, but I was at a loss as to exactly how I was going to get at it. Keep plugging, though, I told myself.

I'd just dropped the hook-shaped loopy metal bracket down to a place I couldn't get at when BTK came wandering over to see how I was doing. And I was going okay---no panic---but it was good to see him, and to have another mass o' brain matter offa which to bounce my speculations. I filled him in on the up-to-nows & précised the mediocre reference materials, and shortly, after an examination of what we could make out of the area in question, he came up with the revelation of the day: that entire mechanism back there---the long metal tube the cord must be feeding into AND the stuff at the top of it AND the black box & electrical stuff at the bottom---was all part of the power antenna that was to be replaced. He proceeded to finish the detachment thereof and, with a little help from my also-not-narrow-nor-delicate fingers, had soon fished out both that honkin' business and the fallen bracketage mentioned above. Sure enough, it was so all-one-hunk he had to be right.

Of course our work was hardly done. But we were feeling our verbal-nerdly oats. Both sides of the brains were engaging, and it was feeling good. And in the doing of it we'd taken turns manipulating our physiognomies into positions Meredith'd be impressed by in order to line up our eyeballs with the best possible angle on each focused-upon spot.

Triumph was not yet at hand, however; obstacles remained whose seriousness, should we have known it at the time, might have scuttled our hopes. Fortunately, we were still, at that point, ignorant of their impendingness-itude.

{ at least one more to go, I reckon }
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