According to Quiznos' corporate headquarters, it costs a Quiznos franchise about 75 cents in ingredients to make one sub sandwich. (source)
Philip White: February 2009 Archives
Back in December -- after one of many brutal snowstorms we have in Dallas -- my front, driver-side window started ignoring the window control button.
After several instances where rather than being able to roll down my window to talk to someone, pay a toll or receive a needed piece of paper I had to open the door, I decided to fix the problem. It so happens that a few years ago I bought a Haynes Repair Manual for my car. Up to this point, the only benefit from this manual was making me feel manly and rugged; I've not used it for any repairs. (To be fair, the only repair my car has needed up to now was a transmission rebuild, which I would not attempt on my own even if I had one hundred Haynes Repair Manuals.)
Yesterday morning I decided that yesterday was The Day.
I ate a hearty breakfast—a breakfast of champions—then armed myself with the manual and a screwdriver and got to work. The work was easy. I knew that the button itself was working since I heard a click within the door whenever I pushed the roll-down button. I figured that either the window's motor is dead or the window got jammed. My game plan was to disconnect and remove the motor, then test it with a multimeter.
The disassembly of the door was an uneventful success. During the disassembly I made a trip to Home Depot to buy a socket set, since apparently just a Phillips-head screwdriver is not enough to perform work on a Honda Accord.
I didn't see anything that might jam the window, so removing the motor was the goal. When I reached the part where I was to take out the window's motor out of the door, I had a nasty surprise: one cannot remove the motor without disconnecting it from the window, and one cannot disconnect it from the window without having the window rolled down partway (to reach the necessary bolts), and I cannot roll down the window because it won't respond to the button. The only thing I could do was to wiggle the motor inside its iron cage and feel all the cables coming out of it.
Here I put on my thinking cap and asked myself, "What would a mechanic do in this situation?" Try as I might, nothing productive came to mind. It seemed like a logic puzzle without a solution.
Oh well, I thought to myself -- at least now when I take it to the mechanic, I'll have saved myself at least half an hour of the mechanic's labor.
Then Andreas came out for emotional support. As I was conveying to him my reasoning and the problem, I decided once more to show him (and myself) that I am confident that the control button works. I reconnected the button to the door chassis and told him to listen for the click that the window motor makes.
Like Terminator, the window jumped to life. With a loud creak as if it's awakening from a deep slumber, it started rolling down. I rejoiced and called the mission a success!
Surprisingly, I was able to reassemble the door. After cleaning the upholstery and the door-side controls (which I could take into the kitchen) with soapy water, it all looks brand-new.
Like two salty sailors, my Haynes Repair Manual and I walked back inside the house and basked in the great feeling of fixing the car ourselves rather than paying a mechanic. Now the manual sits on my bookcase once again, just as before... except like its owner, it is now more worn, more experienced, and more battle-seasoned.
Now on my agenda is to fix my mom's horn and my girlfriend's rear window.
