Sigh! I’m getting too old for this. I don’t understand the lingo anymore.

The old Bronco makes a clunking sound in the rear end. Actually it isn’t a clunking sound, but I can spell clunk; I can’t spell the sound it’s making. I can imitate it, I just can’t spell it.

I’ve worked on my own stuff since that old ’46, You remember, the one that a cat could enter with the doors shut and windows up. A drive in the wintertime called for the buddy system; four of us crammed into the front seat with a quilt around us, draping forward to the (heater? Ah, so that’s what it’s supposed to be).

I even had the sickness for several years and built those darn race cars. (Just my luck, the guv’ment didn’t protect folks with addictions back then).

So I figure fixing the rear end won’t be too much of a challenge. The code on the door frame indicates a fairly common ratio, 3-to-1. 3-to-1 means the input (pinion) makes three revolutions to one for the output (ring gear).

Inspection reveals the need for new bearings, pinion and ring gear.

“Howdy”, he says before I’m close enough to communicate over the din, “what can I do for you today?”

“Need a ring gear and pinion,” I shout, continuing to the counter, “9 inch Ford.”

By now I’m nearer, and he asks. “What ratio?”

“3-to-1”.

He twists up his face. I don’t know if he doesn’t know, or he thinks I’m trying to be funny.

When I offer no clarification, he says, “I need a number.”

“3-to-1.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he replies, “you have to have a number, 4:11, 4:56, something like that.” (4:11 means the pinion makes 4.11 revolutions to the ring gear’s one. So a 4:11 is a 4.11-to-1.)

“It’s a 3-to-1,” I offer again.

He glares. “What’s it go in?” he asks.

“81 Bronco,” I answer.

He thumbs through a book. No help. “Well”, he’s growing a little exasperated with me, “I gotta have the number.”
“3-to-1”, I repeat, “I know that’s right. The tag affixed to the rear says ‘3’, and before I left I counted the teeth on the gears.”

His face lights up. We’re getting somewhere now. “What are they?” he asks.

“39 ring gear. 13 pinion”.

I know you’re tired of graybeards saying, “When I was a kid”, but I can’t help it here. When I was a kid they wouldn’t pass you through the lower grades if you didn’t know in your head that 39/13 is 3. Let’s see, that makes the rear end a 3-to-1, doesn’t it?

He goes to the calculator. Enters. Clears. Enters. Clears. Finally he looks at me, “I need a number,” he says.

“3-to-1.”

I think he’s coming over the counter for me. “I don’t know what that means, guy!” he says. Uh oh! When I entered, he called out like we were old buddies. Now I’m ‘guy’. And his ‘guy’ sounds like the emphasis you hear just before the next sound is his knuckles into your face.

But I’m catching on now. I’ve got his lingo down. “Three-point-zero-zero”, I say slowly. (Actually it’s a 3 ‘colon’ zero-zero, but I’m not going to say colon, the mood this guy’s in. I don’t have any broken bones on my resume’ and that’s the way I like it.)

He looks at me for a couple of seconds. I see the little light bulb click on. “That’s a three hundred,” he says, as though he is correcting me, “yeah, I’ve got that.” He flips through a book. He gives the price.

He gives the price? I wouldn’t carry it out if he gave it to me. Well, yeah, I would. But I heard of another place that may be less.

“I’ll look someplace else”, I say.

“Okay,” he replies. The red has left his neck now. Pleasant sort actually. The sort you would like living next door to, or hanging out with . . . if it weren’t for the language barrier.

There’s a “Driveline Express’ forty-five miles away. They also have an ‘On The Border’ whose tex-mex Trueloves craves. Do I have a good plan, or what?

I walk into Driveline Express. I’ve learned my lesson. I ask for a “three-point-zero-zero.” He sets it down and starts writing the ticket. “Uh”, I begin, “if I had asked for a 3-to-1. . “

“Same thing,” he answers, “most folks call them that. Doesn’t matter.”

Awriiiight! I bet this guy even knows what a toploader is. “Say.”

“Yes?” he asks . . . Nah, better not chance it.

"Old guy in Texas"

 

I need an air filter for a 351.
"I'm sorry sir, all we have listed is for Ford 5.8"
What's the part number for that?
"Fram C351"
Okay, that might work, LOL!

At McDonald's:
I'd like flapjacks please.
"I'm sorry sir, thats not on our menu."
Yes it is, you know, pancakes.
"I'm sorry sir, is there something else you'd like instead?"
No! I want pancakes, you know, the little round flat cakes that you fry up and put butter and maple syrup on!
"Oh, you mean *hotcakes*, yes we have those."

 

"My Pop told me you guys are (butt-holes)..."

"Who's your Poppa?"

"George."

"Whadda ya want, sonny boy?"

"Never mind, he was right..."

(About face)

 

uhmmmm yeah ok

 

Well i was in autozone for about 1.5 hours becuase i wanted a K&N filter and 15W40 oil and the guy at the counter said we don't make 15W30 oil. So i did not get my oil and when asking for my filter I said its a 1995 Ford F150 with a 5.0 he does that fine but then i say i has speed density not mass air he says ok and give me the number for mass air. What i have learned is i can get better service at Walmart. Or better yet THE WALL at least i does not ask stupid questions.

 

When I ask for parts for my"85 Ford Bronco with a 300 6 cyl." I am always asked "Bronco II?" Then I am always told that the computer doesn't show a 306cid, am I sure that I don't have a 302?

I usually hang up then.

dj

 

The McDonalds comment reminded me of the time shortly after they changed the product designations.

I asked for a medium fry and was told, "I'm sorry sir, we only have small, large and extra large".

I tried again and asked if the middle one wasn't medium? And was told straight faced again, "Sorry sir, we only have small, large and extra large".

One more try - I said, "You have a little one and a great big one and one in between. Isn't the in-between-one 'medium'?" and was told once more with great sincerity and conviction, "I'm sorry sir, but we only have small, large and extra large".

That was about the time I decided I didn't want any after all, no matter what size they were....

 

sketch, welcome to FTE You have to post more. This place would be much more intresting with you around.





https://www.ford-trucks.com/user_gallery/displaythumbnail.php?&photoid=4920&.jpg http://66.179.41.42/gen1/build/realgeneral.jpg

2002 F-350 SC LB 4X4 6SPD PSD. 3.73 gears. 2.5" leviling kit. Rhino lined Bed. Prodigy trailer brake controler. 35x12.5x16.5 BFG A/T. 16.5x10 ultra wheels.

 

to mtflat: I am glad to know that you had that problem with Mc Donalds because it really is not a language problem but a diet problem when you choose to eat there.

 

I hear ya Mudge! That was way back when the kids were little and McD's were the only ones with a playland.

Any more I get hives just driving past the golden arches. I ate there so often during my college days and then with young'ns that I avoid them all now.

 

To mtflat: I have kids that ate there as well in the 1980's. That is probably the last time I ate a fish sandwich there myself. I would never eat the beef because it just did not look like a hamburger that I would make at home. I always wondered what the meat actually was. My personal memories of Mickey D's go back to the early 60's when they were just a drive up stand. You went into a vestibule, ordered, and took your order back to the car and ate. Burgers were 19 cents, fries were 15 cents and shakes were a quarter. You could truly eat for under a dollar. Hell I was 14 years old and my body could take anything back then. I think today you may be safe with one of their salads, but it is prudent to avoid the place, and others like them, permanently. I don't know where you live, but the best hamburger I could ever find to come out of a chain type restaurant was a place called Fudruckers. They don't have any where I reside, but I did see one in Alexandria Virginia. The burgers look like a hamburger you would make at home, and taste just as good, if not better, because you did'nt have to make it. Happy dining!