Women invited to pop hoods

When Kim Micklesen wrote to tell me about a free women's car clinic, I thought it swell that a female mechanic was offering a greasy hand up.

Then I went to Micklesen's Greenwood Avenue North shop, All Vovo. That generous, greasy-handed gal? She's a guy.

But a guy surrounded by women: Micklesen's married with four girls. His first grandchild? Her name's Jacqueline. And he has spent 23 years "looking at women's perplexed faces" as they try to figure out where car noises come from and where oil goes in.

So he's holding a 90-minute clinic for women at 11 a.m. Feb. 12 at his shop. He's got four mechanics and six bays with which to demonstrate the basics to the first 30 women to sign up. (Call 206-789-0736.)

They'll learn to read the warning lights on the dash, how to deal with a breakdown and how to change basic fluids, as well as a tire. And they'll do it in a shop where the mechanics listen to National Public Radio and hold degrees in architecture, education, botany, zoology and microbiology. Still, I warned Kim the Guy that putting on a car clinic for women assumes that we don't know jack about jacks.

I told him that my father used to be in the car business, that my siblings and I got spark plugs in our Christmas stockings and front ends for our birthdays.

I once changed a tire on a dark Jersey road while my two male passengers peered out the window like we were stuck in the Everglades.

Micklesen, 52, knows plenty of men who would sooner pop a cold one than a car hood.

But in his experience, it is women who deal with the family car.

And it is women who don't have the time or interest to get down and dirty under the hood of something they paid big money — and work hard — to own.

"I want to give something back to customers, and help them be a little more self-sufficient," he said.

Just then, Mardi Mills came into the shop. I tested Micklesen's theory.

What's wrong with her car?

"This I know: that my problem might have something to do with the steering," she said.

Can she change a flat?

"I have ... ," she said.

Put on chains?

"I need somebody to show me how to do it."

Would she come to Micklesen's clinic?

"I feel a certain ... degree of interest," she admitted with a smile.

Maybe this will pique it:

For many, our car is the second-most-expensive investment we make, behind our home. And much of our lives depend on it starting every morning.

You want a desperate housewife? Put her in a stalled-out car on the side of Aurora without a cellphone. Put her at the mercy of a sleazy garage owner and see if she gets out with a balance — tires or checkbook.

It may be worth it to spend 90 minutes with Kim the Guy, and give yourself a greasy hand up.

Nicole Brodeur's column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. Reach her at 206-464-2334 or nbrodeur@seattletimes.com.