We purchased a new car in September 2019. There were a few bugs during the first couple of months but the dealer took good care of us; we are happy with the purchase.

A few months later I began hearing a light rattle in the dash ̶ it was coming from somewhere near the radio (or whatever they call that complicated computer screen, multiple-function device in the dash.)

I intended to make an appointment to have the rattle investigated and eliminated. You know how it goes; when you’re not driving you forget about the rattle so I didn’t make an appointment to have it checked out.

Then the nation went into a lockdown and we had nowhere to go. Yes, I heard the rattle when I was driving but the next day I had forgotten about it again.

Time goes on. We’re driving more again. Last September we went to Colorado; I heard the rattle frequently and told my wife, “When we get home I’m going to take the car in and have that darn rattle fixed.”

We got home and I forgot about the rattle again.

A few weeks ago on a trip to Wisconsin I heard the rattle again. It was irritating. I swore the next week I would make an appointment to get it fixed.

This time I remembered. I stopped by the dealership and made an appointment for 8 a.m. the next day.

Shortly before 8 a.m. the next day I drove to the dealership. The dealer’s hospitality team greeted me and took my car. I went directly to the service desk and checked in. The young service writer told me it would be about an hour so I took a seat in the waiting area, drank my coffee and checked Facebook and email on my smart phone.

I silently scoffed at the one-hour estimate; this rattle was deep inside the dash, I thought, and would require some disassembly. I was just happy I was finally going to get rid of the infuriating rattle.

When a service agent came to the waiting room to tell me my car was ready he smiled and said, “Your car is ready and here’s the problem.”

He handed me the remote garage door opener I kept clipped to my sun visor. I must have appeared a little dumb-founded (my normal look when dealing with automotive problems) as the service writer explained, “The rattle was coming from your garage door remote.”

“But the noise was coming from the dash,” I responded.

“Actually, the noise was coming from this remote,” he said, still smiling.

“But… but… the remote opener is clipped to my sun visor,” I said.

My joy at having the problem fixed overcame my doubt and was heightened when he told me that because the fix was so simple there would be no charge.

“No charge.” I love those words.

I drove away from the dealership still skeptical but was delighted when I got onto the highway and realized the rattle was gone.

I don’t want to appear paranoid but I imagined that as the mechanic who remedied the rattle problem was eating his lunch that day he told his co-workers, “You won’t believe what I had to do today. Some guy thought he had a rattle in his dash but it was just his garage door opener.”

You see, I am mechanically challenged. I am the oldest of four boys (and two girls) and all three of my brothers are excellent mechanics ̶ one as a professional and the other two darn good amateurs. I seriously doubt that any them ever had to take a vehicle to the dealer to find and eliminate a rattle.

For years they did their own oil changes and many of their own repairs. I did a few of my own oil changes back when cars were simpler. When I tried changing the oil in my late model Ford in 1973 I boogered up the drain plug and had to have it towed and repaired at a local service station. The tow and repair cost me more than the money I saved by trying to do it myself.

I hope the guys at the dealership had a good laugh over my rattle dilemma. At my age, I have no intention of taking an automotive mechanics course at the community college so I can prevent embarrassment.

Meanwhile, I love my mechanically inclined brothers and I am not envious of their skills. Well… not most of the time.