He could have said it was the flux capacitor, and sadly, I wouldn't have known the difference. So you can imagine my surprise when the vehicle that I had nervously abandoned only 15 minutes earlier was already prepped for surgery, diagnosed, and broken down into words that even I understood. Nick said the "scary gasoline smell" that needed to be checked out was legitimately "A Scary Gasoline Smell" and that its cause was a laceration in my fuel line (then the term death trap was tossed around lightly). Instantly, cartoon dollar signs replaced my pupils, I clutched a nearby window ledge for support, my knuckles went white, and I asked the question that every owner of a wounded vehicle must ask: "Soooo, how much?" His response floored me even further, "How's $13.50 for parts and labor? Oh, and we can have it ready in about 20 minutes. Oh, and hey! Congratulations on quitting smoking — it must feel good knowing that you would have exploded if you hadn't!" Was I really getting my car fixed for less than the cost of an oil change and in about the same amount of time — as well as receiving moral support on a major life decision? Yes! But that's because I brought my plush whip to Rothe's. The Rothe family, Nick, and the rest of the crew at this busy little shop approach auto repair with an uncommon Zen-based flair: They not only see the inner beauty in every hoop-ride but they feel it deserves to live (and occasionally die) with dignity. So if your beater just quit beating or you're not emotionally ready to pull the plug on your '87 Pinto or hell — you're just scared of slick-talking grease monkeys, take it to the wrench-wielders who will give it to you straight. Take it to Rothe's.