This car sounds like gorillas are making love on an old bed spring

My shocks and struts were squeaking something awful. My 2002 Honda Accord was holding up but car repairs were coming faster than my bank account felt comfortable with. So put it off. The last time I had it in the shop, Hank, the mechanic told me, “Listen friend, you’re lucky this old girl is still running. But if you don’t take care of those struts soon, you’re gonna be in for a world of hurt.”

I nodded, knowing he was right. But I also knew I didn’t have the money to pay for it. Not now, at least. I thanked him and headed out to my car, feeling a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I knew I needed to do something, but what could I do?

As I pulled out of the lot, I noticed a flyer on the windshield of my car. At first, I thought it was just another ad for a pizza place or a local band playing at a bar. But as I read the words scrawled across the page, I realized it was something entirely different.

“Get your car fixed for free. Call the number below.”

I frowned, wondering if it was some kind of scam. But a part of me couldn’t resist the idea.

At the very least, I wanted to find out what the scam was. I took the flyer and shoved it into the glove compartment. As soon as I got home, I dialed the number on the flyer.

“What’s this about a free car repair?” I asked, suspicion lacing my tone.

“Ah, you must have seen our flyer,” a male voice answered. “Yes, we’re offering free car repairs to those in need. It’s a way for us to give back to the community.”

I was hesitant, but the thought of having my car fixed for free was too good to resist. I agreed to meet with the man later that week at a garage on the outskirts of town.

The garage was rundown and in a sketchy part of town, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I walked in and was greeted by the same man I had spoken to on the phone.

“My name is Jack,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m the owner of this garage.”

We chatted for a bit and I explained my struts situation and likewise my bank account situation. He said, “Don’t worry, for we are gypsies, we have a way of paying you can afford.”I was taken aback by his statement. Gypsies? Did he mean the Roma people? I had heard stories about them, but I had never met one in person. Nevertheless, I was willing to hear him out.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn’t want to offend him.

Jack chuckled. “We have our ways, my friend. Let’s take a look at your car and see what we can do.”

I followed him to the back of the garage, where my car was parked. He lifted the hood and examined the engine, making clucking noises with his tongue.

“Hmm, this is going to be a bit more complicated than I thought,” he said, scratching his chin. “But don’t worry, we can fix it. It will just take a little longer than expected.”

I nodded, relieved that he seemed to know what he was doing.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” Jack said. “We fix your car, you have to steal a car. We’ll teach you, it’s easy and fast. Sound good.”

Now, I knew I couldn’t break the law, so I said, “How about a counter offer. I’ll tell you three jokes. If you laugh at any one of them, I get my car repaired for free.”Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright, you have my attention. Let’s hear these jokes.”

I cleared my throat and tried to think of the funniest jokes I knew.

“Okay, so first one: Why did the tomato turn red?”

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, his face serious.

“Because it saw the salad dressing. Come on, that’s a classic!” I chuckled, hoping I’d get a laugh out of him.

But Jack remained stoic. “Next one.”

I took a deep breath and tried again. “Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”

“I have no idea,” Jack said, still stone-faced.

“Because they make up everything!” I delivered the punchline with gusto, but Jack didn’t even crack a smile.

“Last one,” I said, feeling the pressure.

“Make it a good one,” Jack warned.

I racked my brain for something that would make Jack laugh. Then I remembered a joke my dad used to tell me.

“How do you follow Will Smith in the snow?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said.

“You follow the fresh prints.”

He remained stoic and then started to move his hand to the pistol on his hip. Uh-oh. I knew gypsies could be violent. I looked around for the exits for a quick retreat.

His face remained stone. I could feel the sweat running down my back. The quiet whirr of the single fan in the room was the only sound.

“Hahahaha!” he burst into laughter and stepped forward, clapping me on the back. “You follow the fresh prints! I get it!”