We return to our heros, trying to generate enough heat and/or
activity to keep warm in the January cold. Brother brings over a Snap-on
calander, and Miss January 1992 brightens the spot on the wall where the
Miss Napa once resided.
On weekends, since the big layoff, we've either been grinding rust
on my car or wet sanding on Brothers car. I wish I'd not spent the $900 on
parts but kept it instead to pay the mortgage. Sweet Wife Kathy disagrees (?!)
and says I need the car project to keep my mind and hands busy while I look
for work. She's probably right.
I did find a tempoary job in a baseball card factory.
We cut out the floors. We cut out the 'doglegs', the traditional
rust out spots between the rear wheel arches and the doors. (I hear a
collective 'Oh, Yeah!' from all the MGers) The also traditional cracks-
in-the-door-near-the-mirrors are welded up and reinforced from behind.
(reprise: OH, YEAH!). PO mounted the radio antenna such that it must have
driven the passenger crosseyed, so that hole was patched up. In the finished
car the antenna is within reach of the driver on the left front fender.
The luggage rack was hopelessly rusted. I ordered an EXCACT replacement
from Moss and wound up 'moving holes' to accomidate. Mirrors will be relocated
out to the front fenders. All mounting holes for such options will be drilled
before the car is painted, avoiding damage to the finish.
The damage to the front end is repaired. Those front fenders, even
after many hours of bending and welding and grinding and pulling...well...
they're just not right. There's only so many times you can clobber something
and straighten it out again. These poor fenders had war stories to tell...
I consider scrapping them but then there's the cost of replacement.
So when Brother's around I do body work. I even learned how to do
a little MIG welding. Plus Brother has a nifty air tool for all occasions.
And to boot, because he's a proffessional mechanic he writes them all off his
taxes! Air Hammers, Air wrenches, Zizz wheels, grinders, you name it.
Vibrating the living soul out of the entire end of the house, the garage
floor covered in rust, bondo, bits of metal, acorns and general mess, no
job too big for Brothers tool collection. He messes with my mind. I reach
a point of total frustration...Brother produces yet another weird tool
I've never seen...and the job is finished in a few easy minutes.
All the work goes reasonably well. We alternate between the cars,
working on the car whose owner is fortunate enough to be able to buy parts.
I guess the only time I felt seriously in well over my head was
when we cut out the trunk floor and the rear of the car between the backup
lights. There was this huge empty hole...like a first grader with all four
front upper teeth gone. The original material was rust, holes and bondo.
the PO had no idea how to remove dents and the car had been smacked from
behind so hard the trunk floor was buckled. Somebody just bondo-ed over it
all. That and the big battery in the trunk trick ate a 9 x 12 in hole in
the floor. In fact, the battery nearly fell into the fuel tank. Anyway,
we fiddled and fiddled and clamped and adjusted and welded and fiddled...
and breathed a huge sigh of releif when it all went back together and looked
remarkably like an MGB.
I have the tools. (Well, HE has the tools) I have the time. But
we squeak by the mortgage at the end of the month, just barely getting by,
there is no funding for the car project. All the parts I had are on the car
except for the nifty front spoiler with the roadlights built in. That will
have to wait untill I make up my mind about these beat up front fenders.
I go out to the garage at night and talk to my car. 'Any ideas?'
I ask. 'What can I accomplish with $10 or $15?'
I begin to dig through all those cardboard boxes. All the plastic
lamp lenses are cleaned up, buffed to like new with ordinary buffing compound
during a Star Trek episode. Hmmm...a little dab of progress! And not a lot
of money, either! Hmmm, clean up all the instruments and the few interior
pieces that are any good. OK, a little more progress. Polish up lots of
shiny bits with the buffing wheel. Stand for mindless boring hours in front
of the grinder, cleaning up bag after bag of nasty old hardware on the wire
wheel...the monotony broken up only by the fact that the Braves are winning
a few games now, and I'd rather listen to the game on the radio than watch
it on t.v. anyway. But, it's progress and it's cheap.
The baseball card factory job went away. Found myself serving time
in a K-Mart warehouse. Now we're really pinching pennies! All the cheap
stuff is done. Progress slows to a stop.
My mom gives me a car cover for my birthday. I toss it over the
half done shell and just give up....for a while.
The Temp Company called, wanting me to take some electronics test
for a 'major electronics company in Peachtree City'. There is only one, that
being NCR. So I take the test, and make a 98. Partly because I know my stuff
and partly because the people who were grading the tests were discussing the
answers in a loud voice in the next room! Two weeks later, I'm working
at NCR repairing printers.
Sweet Wife gets a job making more than me, but thats not hard to do.
One by one, all the temps in my group are hired permanent. Things are begining
to look good.
I plan a mammoth yard sale. My 7 year old daughter asks what the
money is for. 'To buy a few parts for the MG, honey'. Her reation is to
go to her room and fetch out a box of stuff as big as she can carry. 'I'm
too big to play with this stuff anymore, Daddy, besides I want you to
drive me to Daisy Scouts in the MG!'
I guy in the club sells me a parts car and this jump starts the
project. Much better fenders, like new bumpers, perfect windshield glass,
the list goes on and on. I tally up $2300 retail. I sell off and trade away
almost all of it. The fenders are stripped, worked over lightly and primed.
The nifty spoiler-with-the-lights goes on next, after exstensive fiddling
and fooliing around. The shell is ready for paint.
I rather think Miss June 1992 was pleased. I was.
More Later.
Wade
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