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V.E.T. TIP

            Hey guys and gals, have you failed the V.E.T. test or will you fail it next time?  If so, I have a tried and true tip for you.

            I had a bomb of a car some years ago in Florida.  It was my old work car and I didn’t care about how it looked just as long as it got me to jobs.  It had a huge V-8 engine that got about 6 miles to the gallon but did 400 miles an hour.  Can’t I ever just tell the story?  Ask me what time it is and I’ll tell you how to build a watch.  J.

            I failed the test in Florida.  I was devastated.  I felt like the lowliest of losers.  I would never be able to look those close to me in the eye again.  But all of that changed.    

            While I was waiting for the old beast to fail I had struck up a conversation with one of the workers.  He was just one of us and couldn’t care less about this stupid job of his except to get his paycheck on Fridays.  He almost cried when he told me that I hadn’t made the grade.  It seems that he had failed it himself about three weeks earlier and knew the sense of utter worthlessness that one could feel.

            I felt his breath on my ear as he leaned into my car.  “Wanna pass the test?” He asked as he looked around for the V.E.T. detectives.        

            “Gee whiz yeah,” I cried, a feeling of hope flickering through my heart.  “But how?  I mean, boy oh boy that’s a hard test.”

            “Well don’t worry, you don’t have to study.  You have 30 days to retake it so plan your test man.  Let the car run down to gas fumes.  Empty that tank man.  Get here with just enough gas to get you through the test and back to a gas station.  But bring along a can of carburetor cleaner.  When you get in line for the test just pour the bottle in your tank and act like nothing has happened.”  He smiled a knowing smile.

            “Carb cleaner?”  I asked.  “Why?”

            “It doesn’t even have to be carb cleaner?”  He said.  “Octane booster will work too.  It makes your engine run hotter and burns up the pollutants.  Kind of like cremation, no junk, just ash.  A clean burn.  Trust me.”

            Two weeks later Clyde and I rejoiced as he handed me my clean V.E.T. document, glancing at each other with the eyes of brotherhood pulling one over on the establishment.

            “You best get to a gas station,” he urged as I pulled out of the parking lot feeling like the world was my playground.

TERRY GRAY

RABID CITIZEN

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