Moe's SMOG
I renew my registration months in advance online, that way, I don’t have to think about it before it expires. It’s important that I get it out of the way, because I wasn’t always so prepared. Before I quit drinking, I once got pulled over, and my tags had been expired for nine months. The cop told me, “If I were a CHP, I would have towed your ass.” I guess the local guys don’t care as much.
A letter from the DMV was delivered, and I assumed it was my registration, but when I opened it, I was informed that my car needed to pass a SMOG inspection before my registration would be renewed.
That was odd — I thought my car was still new.
I Googled places nearby and found Moe’s SMOG only a mile away. The name sounded familiar, and I remembered that I often run by the shop during my longer training sessions.
I called to see if they take appointments, and the person who answered said it was walk-in only.
The office was small, dusty, and dingy, and filled with signed photos of ‘70s and ‘80s butt-rockers like Tommy Shaw, members of Scorpions and Night Ranger, and tribute acts The Iron Maidens that read, “To Moe, you ROCK!” and “To Moe, Smog On!”
Up near the desk, a sign hung that read, “Employees Must Carve Slayer into Forearms Before Returning to Work.”
A balding man with a braided ponytail in his mid-50s, wearing a black t-shirt that said, “1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8,” whom I assumed to be Moe, turned the corner from the garage and into the office and said, “Can I help ya?”
”I just need a SMOG check.”
”You got the letter from the DMV?”
”Actually, no. I don’t,” I said. “I forgot it.”
Moe looked at me like I was dumb. He huffed under his breath and said, “I don’t suppose you have your registration in your car, do ya?”
”I do.”
He replied, “Well, maybe you can go and get it, then.”
I felt like I was in trouble as I did my perp walk to my car. When I returned to the office, registration in hand, Moe was back in the garage, tinkering away on something. I noticed a wooden board hanging directly below the pricing that read “NO POLITICS,” with an elephant and a donkey Shou Sugi Ban burned into it, just below a STAR Certified sign. To the left of it was an autographed photo of President Trump in the Oval Office, sitting at the Resolute Desk, next to Ted Nugent.
Moe made his way from the garage and said, “You got the registration?”
”Here it is,” I said as I handed it to him. He filled out some paperwork, including my VIN number, expiration date, and so on.
He slid over a paper and said, “Name, address, and phone here and here,” as he pointed. “That’ll be $80.”
”Can I use my card?” I asked.
”I’d rather you didn’t, but you can. Do you have Venmo?“
”I do, yeah.”
”Scan the QR code for payment.”
I reached over to the code, and he said, “No, not now. You haven’t passed the inspection yet. This is just a quote.”
”Got it.”
I glanced back up at the board to check the cost, and at the very top, in large letters, it said, “Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatever ye do, do all in the glory of god.”
”Excuse me, real quick, I noticed that the quote you gave me was different than the price on the sign. That says $70.35.”
Moe shrugged and asked for my keys.
He pulled my Toyota into the garage, and while I sat in the dark office alone. The walls were littered with racing memorabilia, in addition to the rock ‘n’ roll stuff. Moe seems to be quite the hot rod on weekends when he’s not SMOG-checking the locals’ vehicles.
There was an employee with a long goatee standing outside on his phone, leaning up against a car, who must have been on break. Moe called him over, “Hey, Carmen, come check this shit out.”
Carmen went into the garage, and the two of them had a laugh. Then Moe said, “I ain’t never seen anything like it. It’s a damn Ford motor.”
Carmen replied, “Yep! Sure is,” and they laughed again.
”You reckon he knows?” one of them asked the other.
”Nope!” as they both cracked up.
Were they talking about my Toyota and me? Was Toyota adding Ford engines to their Yaris models in 2018, and no one had the courage to tell me until now? Did the Toyota dealership fail to point that out when I bought the damn thing? Why is my car funny? Were they making jokes at my car’s expense?
As I continued to wait, I noticed a large crucifix on the wall near a photo of Ace Frehley, and next to it was a credentials of ministry certificate. It appears that ole’ Moe is a god-loving and fearing rocker, who races cars, and has the capability to legally unite you in a holy matrimony.
After 15 minutes, Moe returned to the office and said, “She passed.”
”Great! I was expecting it would.”
”Never assume,” Moe said.
”Well, yeah, I just thought that my car was still new, you know? I don’t think it has any faulty emissions components.”
”Never assume,” he said once again. “Your car is considered an older model in the state of California. It’s eight years old this year.”
”It has fewer than 80,000 miles on it, and it’s considered old?”
”Yes, sir. In the state of California, at least. That’ll be $80. Same as the quote.”
I went to hand him my card, and he nodded towards the Venmo sign and gave a bit of a wink.
”Ahh, yeah. Venmo,” I said.
”Cash is best, but Venmo is second best. It makes my wife smile.”
As I scanned the QR code to make payment, I asked, “Question for you, how often do I have to do this now?”
”Do what?” Moe asked.
”SMOG check.”
”It’s every other year now. Your car requires a SMOG check because the state’s 8-year exemption for new vehicles expired.”
I showed Moe on my phone that the Venmo payment went through.
“Payment successful — I like to see that. Momma’s gonna smile.”
”See you in a few years,” I said. No mention of the Ford motor or what was so comical.