My father was a factory worker and labor-union representative. My stepfather was an Army diesel mechanic turned factory maintenance person. Early on, I learned to change automobile parts and assemble machinery. The first eight years of my marriage, I labored as a sheet-metal worker and welder. My hands used to be tough.
Nowadays, I type for a living. My hands are soft as a baby’s bottom. So every time I fix something on a daughters’ car or work on my motorcycle, I have to sacrifice a little blood to Hephaestus in the form of skinned knuckles and such.
Today, it was right thumb and pinky scraped on concrete when my bike’s oil-pan drain bolt finally came loose, then a minor scorch of the palm against the upper exhaust pipe while unscrewing the dipstick. But I’m happy to say that the oil and filter are both now changed, and I got another new tool out of the deal.
The old filter didn’t want to come loose, so I bought the tool pictured above. The fingers clamp down when the tool is twisted to remove a filter, allowing considerable grip. Of course, it’s no good at all for putting a filter on, but I already had a tool for that.
Yay for specialized tools! (Is my blue collar showing?)