After the dentist this morning (no fewer teeth), I stopped at an AutoZone in the area of his office. My quest was for the mystical and elusive German Castrol Syntec 0W-30.
I started my treasure hunt slowly, looking over all the additives with new eyes- dismissing some, caressing others, wondering if anyone would catch me if I took the top off for a smell (a taste?).
I then moved to the motor oil racks and scanned each container, scoffing at the pedestrian cocktails that mere peasants would buy in their ignorance of the real Pearls of Great Price.
I saw the white containers of Castrol GTX and knew I was on the right trail. Other Siren-like elixers tried to lure me with their specious claims emblazoned on their labels: "Buy me! Buy me!" I was not to be distracted from my Holy Quest, although hope was not high.
Then I saw it. Just a glimpse of red at first. Right at eye level, what to my wondering eyes should appear but the plastic container as dark as the Black Forest. As I focused my gaze, one of the bottles, precariously perched askew on the shelf, straightened itself out. I think, but I can't be sure, that I saw a tiny Elfin hand adjust it from behind the rack.
Having seen the photos on this forum, I looked for the stigmata: Red Printing? Check! 0W-30? Check! Made in Germany? Check!
Now... for the sine quo non: Batch number 04? CHECK!
I muffled my exited cry for fear of alerting others who might try and get some before me. But, alas, the shelf was stocked to the hilt. I decided to just buy five quarts (for now) so as not to start a run on the bank. This would be my secret stash. (Shhhhh!)
I carried my find to the counter while whistling and walking in a forced slow pace. (There's many a slip between the cup and the lip. It wasn't in my Acura yet!). I placed the potions on the counter and asked the clerk if he was the manager (in a soft, controlled voice). He said, "Yes."
It was then that I lost all control. "How much of this **** do you have? I'll take it all! Can I get a discount for volume?"
His countenance drained of it's color. He nervously looked around. His toe searched for the alarm button...
"I'm sorry," I said, recovering my composure. "Just kidding." I cleared my throat and spoke in a lowered voice out of one side of my mouth, kind of like a junky trying to score a fix in a back alley. "But if I take all you have, can I get a wholesale price?"
"No," he said, sensing my desperation. "We don't discount oil." Spoken like a true pusher. Did he know? Was he bluffing? We stared each other down for the longest minute I've ever known.
"O.K. I'll just take these." He doesn't know! And I'm not going to tell him.
I took my booty out to the safety of my car trunk where I carefully secured it. Just then (I swear), a twenty-year old Mercedes sedan pulled in to the spot next to me. A wizzened, ageless guy, about 4' 4", scampered from behind the wheel, saw my stash, and gave me a smile and a big wink from under the brow of his Alpine felt hat.
No words were necessary.
Move over Mobil 1. I've started my vault. I'm ready for St. Patrick's Day. I've got my green.
Dave, the noob
First post
I started my treasure hunt slowly, looking over all the additives with new eyes- dismissing some, caressing others, wondering if anyone would catch me if I took the top off for a smell (a taste?).
I then moved to the motor oil racks and scanned each container, scoffing at the pedestrian cocktails that mere peasants would buy in their ignorance of the real Pearls of Great Price.
I saw the white containers of Castrol GTX and knew I was on the right trail. Other Siren-like elixers tried to lure me with their specious claims emblazoned on their labels: "Buy me! Buy me!" I was not to be distracted from my Holy Quest, although hope was not high.
Then I saw it. Just a glimpse of red at first. Right at eye level, what to my wondering eyes should appear but the plastic container as dark as the Black Forest. As I focused my gaze, one of the bottles, precariously perched askew on the shelf, straightened itself out. I think, but I can't be sure, that I saw a tiny Elfin hand adjust it from behind the rack.
Having seen the photos on this forum, I looked for the stigmata: Red Printing? Check! 0W-30? Check! Made in Germany? Check!
Now... for the sine quo non: Batch number 04? CHECK!
I muffled my exited cry for fear of alerting others who might try and get some before me. But, alas, the shelf was stocked to the hilt. I decided to just buy five quarts (for now) so as not to start a run on the bank. This would be my secret stash. (Shhhhh!)
I carried my find to the counter while whistling and walking in a forced slow pace. (There's many a slip between the cup and the lip. It wasn't in my Acura yet!). I placed the potions on the counter and asked the clerk if he was the manager (in a soft, controlled voice). He said, "Yes."
It was then that I lost all control. "How much of this **** do you have? I'll take it all! Can I get a discount for volume?"
His countenance drained of it's color. He nervously looked around. His toe searched for the alarm button...
"I'm sorry," I said, recovering my composure. "Just kidding." I cleared my throat and spoke in a lowered voice out of one side of my mouth, kind of like a junky trying to score a fix in a back alley. "But if I take all you have, can I get a wholesale price?"
"No," he said, sensing my desperation. "We don't discount oil." Spoken like a true pusher. Did he know? Was he bluffing? We stared each other down for the longest minute I've ever known.
"O.K. I'll just take these." He doesn't know! And I'm not going to tell him.
I took my booty out to the safety of my car trunk where I carefully secured it. Just then (I swear), a twenty-year old Mercedes sedan pulled in to the spot next to me. A wizzened, ageless guy, about 4' 4", scampered from behind the wheel, saw my stash, and gave me a smile and a big wink from under the brow of his Alpine felt hat.
No words were necessary.
Move over Mobil 1. I've started my vault. I'm ready for St. Patrick's Day. I've got my green.
Dave, the noob
First post
