Why I Hate Car Repairs

Saturday I noticed that one of the taillights on my Highlander had burned out. Being the take-charge guy that I am, I decided there was no time to lose in replacing that burned out bulb. Because my Highlander is only a year old, I had never changed one of its taillights before. So I opened the rear hatch, popped open the access panel, and did a quick inspection.

Like most car light bulbs, a small, easy-to-remove socket assembly held the burned out taillight in place. You turn the socket to the left and pull it out. You then gently pry out the bulb from the socket, insert a new one, and put the assembly back in place. What could be simpler?

A new feature of the Highlander is that the electrical connection for the bulb is not made by a wire attached to the back of the socket but by a connection made when you seat the socket in the taillight base and tighten. Consequently, if you're not careful when you remove the socket and burned out bulb, you can drop the thing very easily.

Which is precisely what I did! But did I drop the socket under the spare tire or onto the floor? Oh no. Toyota has built into my Highlander a small shaft right beneath the taillight. That's where I dropped it. And there was no way I could stick my hand down into the shaft. It was virtually inaccessible. The bulb was so far down I couldn’t even see it.

I removed as many of the rugs, cosmetic panels, and structure as I could only to discover that the bottom of the shaft was likewise inaccessible. At this point, I decided I needed something to fish the bulb-and-socket out of the shaft. What's the first thing that came to mind? "A spoon should work," I thought. So I grabbed a spoon from the kitchen, inserted it down into the shaft hoping to reach the bulb, when the damn thing slipped from my grasp and disappeared into the shaft along with the bulb. Not only did I have a bulb rattling around somewhere inside the bowels of my car but now one of my wife's spoons.

I looked around the garage for something longer and less slippery than a spoon. My eyes landed on a sod pin, which is basically a long tent peg with a bent-over top used to hold fresh sod in place. "That will work and the hook on top should make it easy to retrieve the bulb." Naturally the sod pin soon joined the bulb and spoon in the recesses of my car.

I was furious, livid. I'm usually pretty good with my hands. But cars especially seem to be loaded with these kinds of situations: one small mistake and a 20-minute job turns into a 3-hour undertaking. I was getting desperate. Did I have any tool, any device, any mechanism at all that would let me retrieve these wayward objects from my car?

There was one thing and one thing only that had promise, one thing that I knew could help me, a cunning instrument that had saved me from situations like this countless times before.

A wire coat hanger.

I straightened a hanger and carefully inserted the hooked end down into the shaft. Despite the 40-degree temperature, sweat was beading on my brow. My hand steadied. My resolve steeled. I pulled the hanger back out.

Up popped the sod pin! With a little more fishing with the hanger, I was able to angle the spoon into a narrow opening in the bottom of the shaft. Down dropped the spoon into the spare tire well! Finally, and with not a little blood spilled, I was able to retrieve the socket. I replaced the failed bulb and returned the socket to its home. Never have I felt such catharsis from the simple replacement of a light bulb.

And that is why I hate car repairs.
K-