The Moron Changes His Oil - Part One

The Moron was on his way home from his job at The Company. It was the middle of summer, so eight o'clock in the evening was bright and sunny; still plenty of daylight left for outdoor tasks. The Moron's car had actually suggested such a task to him by illuminating one of its dashboard lights. This was one of the many things the Moron liked about it--so full of ideas.

"It has to be outside. Can't jolly well change the car's oil down in the basement!" he remarked to his smiling reflection in the rear-view mirror. His reflection nodded its agreement back at him, and a furry lump of happiness tucked itself into his breast pocket like a contented hamster. "Unless we take the engine out," he continued. His reflected face looked contemplative before suddenly snapping to the right with an expression of horror, startling the hamster and making it flee.

The Moron swerved off the rumble strip and back into traffic.

The auto parts store on the way home was stocked with helpful men in red shirts and more oil filters the Moron could shake a stick at.

He had tried this once, just to prove a point to a friend, and was unceremoniously banned from the auto store across the street, where the men wore orange shirts with black stripes. No matter. The Moron liked this one better anyhow, and he would not be waving sticks around in this store. He strode in and stopped next to a stack of tires.

"All I need is an oil filter," he explained to one of the red-shirted men behind a long counter, loudly because he was twenty feet away. "I have oil at home."

He stood there and smiled radiantly.

"Well, uh," the man said haltingly. "They're, um, over against that wall." He pointed, and the Moron spun to face in that direction.

"Golly!" he said, and trotted off. He already knew where the oil filters were, of course, but he liked to make the red-shirted men feel helpful.

"Let's see here. Sure are a lot of different sizes. Oh! A book!" The Moron liked books. The TV shows he watched when he was a kid had explained, patiently, once a day, that books were like big voyages for the imagination. He had dutifully visited his local public library like the man said at the end of the show, and gone on many a voyage.

This voyage, the Moron thought as he giddily eyed the pages, will be about oil filters of various qualities arranged by the make, year, and model of car they are for. Hooray!

Then, an exciting thought bounced off of his brain, like a tennis ball hurled from a short distance down a sidewalk: what if my own car is in this book? That would be awesome!

It was. Right there near the front. What luck! And might it be possible for these artfully worded descriptions of the Purolator PureONE oil filters, which declare them to be "premium quality," to reference real live filters--filters that might perhaps be found at this very store?

The Moron squealed quietly to himself and tried very hard not to drop the book. "It's like a treasure hunt!" he tittered. He committed the model number of the relevant filter to memory, checked to see if he had enough water in his backpack, and set off.