By Michael Kress

Last week, I got my car serviced. I brought it in for an oil change, but of course, it is never quite so simple. As I drove up to the shop, the usual pit in my stomach returned, and I wished I could turn back. This terminal nervousness is not, however, because my car is in such bad shape. The problem, it seems, is me. The problem is that I suffer from Male Auto Illiteracy. I know nothing about car maintenance aside from how to fill it up with gas, and worse, I have no interest in learning that fine art. And in our culture, even in our era of gender equality and mushy men, it still is unacceptable to be a Male Auto Illiterate.

It was no surprise, therefore, when I found myself moments later trying to keep up with the jargon being flung at me at 60 words a second from the mechanic. As he waved dirty car parts in my face and spat terms and opinions at me with all the force and confidence of a drill sergeant, I did what I could to catch a word here or there, nodding emphatically the whole time as if I chat about spark plugs and radiator fluid--or is it spark fluid and radiator plugs?--all the time, while standing around an open hood with my buddies in my driveway.

When the mechanic was done, the inevitable question came: "What would you like us to do about it?" Choking back the "I dunno" that automatically came to my lips, I tried to look thoughtful, like I was considering my course of action, while I really broke out into quite the sweat and considered just slamming the car into reverse and never getting the poor automobile serviced again. But my cooler side prevailed, when I realized that simply driving a car into its deathbed and then replacing it with a new one was an expensive solution to the problem at hand. Instead, looking as thoughtful and deliberate as I could, I asked in my best fake-confident tone, "What would you do?" and I told him to go ahead with his incomprehensible solution to the incomprehensible problem diagnosed when all I thought I needed was a $20 oil change. Of course, I soon had a bill for $100 and a smiling mechanic, but just as predictably, his attitude changed immediately, as my Male Auto Illiteracy became blatantly obvious to him. Mechanics expect men to know all there is to know about cars and women to know nothing about their cars; males suffering from Auto Illiteracy are the lowest of the low. I was an embarrassment to my gender, a freak of nature.

From speaking with my female friends, I have learned that, generally speaking, mechanics are amused but respectful of a woman who knows her car. Female Auto Illiterates are fine as well; they are not expected to know about automobiles, what with all that housework to do and of course they wouldn¹t fit in around the garage anyway, and so they are treated kindly by the All Knowing Mechanic. While female Auto Illiterates must contend with the occasional unscrupulous mechanic, males without car knowledge are perplexing and confusing to mechanics, who seem to think, What the hell was that guy doing in high school anyway? I never feel quite so inadequate, so unready to take on the world, as when I take my car into the shop. Conversing with mechanics, if it can be called that, makes me feel like a cartoon character shrinking steadily as I am made to feel stupid and inadequate. I picture myself a sort of Mini-Me, standing on my car¹s front seat, my head barely peeking over the steering wheel, as the mechanic, growing ever larger, continues his Spark Plug Soliloquy.

Of course, it would be easy to link my Auto Illiteracy to the fact that I am a Jewish male, with all the wimp-stereotypes that come with my demographic category. Among the funnier and more embarrassing experiences of recent memory was driving to New York with a male friend and needing new windshield wipers ó quickly. We found an auto-supply store, and the two of us had to beg an employee for help choosing and then installing the new wipers. The employee¹s face begrudging attitude said it all. Wipers, for goodness sake! Wipers! These two can¹s install wipers! We were sure we were the laughingstock of the store for the day, and we were glad we had decided to remove our yarmulkes before entering the store. It¹s bad enough to be the Auto Illiterate Male. Being the Auto Illiterate Jewish Male is worse yet. No need to heap such shame on Our People as well as our gender.

But blaming the problem on the Jewish male thing, while tempting, fails to explain the equally Auto Illiterate non-Jews I know, or the superbly car-smart Jews, male and female, with whom I am proud to make my acquaintance. More likely, my predicament is just another ramification of still-evolving gender roles and gender stereotypes. We¹ve welcomed women to the workplace, invited them to learn about cars, and removed from them the sole responsibility for housework and child rearing. Men are expected to be touchy-feely, handy in the kitchen, and able to explore their softer sides.

But heaven forbid any of these new male roles should come at the expense of the old ones. Society may shrug at my ability to cook a mean lentil soup, but try admitting you are a man who doesn¹t know what type engine your car has, and beware the wrath of the mechanic. I am not proud, but there¹s no going back. I am a Male Auto Illiterate, and will be for life, the consequences be damned.