Bud’s Auto Wrecking

As you may or may not recall, my parked car was rear-​ended by a cyclist some months back. (As documented here:
)
Well, I finally got pulled over for the broken taillight, and conceded that it was high time to clean up the ol’ Explorer and start looking a teeny less trashy out there on the road.
Enter the junkyard. I’ve driven past Bud’s about 800 times, on that part of SE 72^nd that does a funny turn and ends up on Johnson Creek. You know it, right? Big corrugated metal fence with «BUD’S AUTO WRECKING» painted on it? Yeah, that’s the one.
I don’t think the guy behind the counter, his friend on the other side, or any of the 4 cats I saw were named Bud. He might have been «Bob,» since I saw «Happy Birthday ‘Bob’» («Bob» was in quotes) inscribed on the chalkboard in the smoky, plaque-​filled front office that conjured powerful memories of my grandpa’s 1950s mechanic shop.
This place was awesome. «Bob» was awesome. Even the cats (whom he says people dump, he fixes and lets live there) were pretty freakin’ awesome.
My stepdad called ahead and «Bob» said they had the part, so we drove down to pick it up. Paid cash, went home to install it, and… ooops, turns out it wasn’t quite the right part.
So we went back, and as we walked through the door, I heard «Bob» say, «What happened, did I screw ya?»
The year was right, but the make was wrong — no harm, no foul — he looked for the right one and didn’t have any luck. So he punched in the part on his Commodore 64 and found it at a wrecking yard up the road a piece. Called them to make sure they were open and sent me and my cash on my way.
I told him I’d always wanted to come by, and he said the next time I need a part, he’ll give me a comprehensive tour. If that means I get to climb around on old smashed-​up cars, my dreams of being a pre-​teen boy in a striped shirt circa 1962 will be one step closer to fruition.
I’m already thinking of more parts I need to replace. Thanks to Bud’s and «Bob,» I’ll be a gearhead before you know it.