My Granddaddy Ain’t a Mechanic No More
Only on Bahama Drama
I used to brag about my granddaddy.

Back in school, if anybody said something was wrong with they car, I’d tell them, My granddaddy could fix dat wit’ he eyes closed.
I believed it too. Everyone did.

He used to be a beast with cars. Grew up under the hood before fuel injection was even a thing. People used to call him The Doctor, like he could diagnose a vehicle just by listening to how it crank. Folks would drop off their old Honda or their beat-up Maxima and swear it came back driving like a brand new Benz.

But that was then.

Now? I wouldn’t let him touch a lawnmower.

I live with him now, so I see everything. And it’s getting harder to lie to myself. The man who once rebuilt an engine block in the rain with two tools and no manual can’t even remember where the battery is on these new Kias.

But he still taking jobs.
Still sweet mouthing people when they pull up.
Still saying, I get you back on the road by Monday, when he can’t even open the fuse box without calling me to help Google where it is.

He got customers waiting two, three weeks to get their car back… and it still don’t drive right.

One man came by yesterday. Quiet. Real humble. Just askin’ why his AC still blowing hot even though he paid $750 last week to get it fixed.
My granddaddy ain’t even look the man in his eye. Just mumbled something like, Must be the compressor acting up again.

The man walked off. Said he coming back.
I watched my granddaddy wait till he gone then sit down with a sigh and whisper to himself, I een know no more, God.

But he won’t stop.
He can’t.

He got a name in Nassau. One of those names that float around through word-of-mouth and old respect. People still believe in the man he used to be. Still think he’s that mechanic.

But he’s not.

Now he guesses. Swaps parts that don’t need swapping. Breaks things trying to fix them. And if the customer complains? He says it was another problem dey ain’t tell him about.

Worse yet, he won’t tell people where his shop is until they already on the way. And he won’t give out no receipt, no phone number, no license number. Just a cash total, a promise, and a look in his eye that used to mean something.

Sometimes I sit in that shop and just watch him lie to people.
One customer brought in a 2021 Elantra. My granddaddy pop the hood, blink two times, and then turned to me and whisper, Where de engine is on this ting?
I laughed. I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.

That’s when I knew the truth too big to ignore.
My granddaddy don’t fix cars no more.
He just pretends to.

And what makes it worse? He knows it.
I see it in the way he drinks now. Quiet. Head down. Grease under his nails but shame in his voice.

“I still got bills,” he told me once. If I stop takin’ jobs, I starve.

I asked him why he don’t just retire. Teach somebody. Even let me take over the shop and turn it into a parts place or something.

He shook his head. Ain’t nobody gon’ remember me for sellin’ parts.

No, they’ll remember you for destroying people’s cars, I thought. But I ain’t say it out loud.

One customer gone viral on TikTok already saying her whole suspension get mash up after she bring it by some ghost mechanic in Nassau.
I wanted to comment that’s my granddaddy, but my fingers froze.

So now I’m here. Writing this.

Not to shame him but to warn you.

If your car start actin’ up and someone tell you bring it to this older fella he been fixin cars from time, think twice.

Cause he might just be my granddaddy. Still under the hood, still pretending, still charging Even though he don’t know what he doin’ no more.

And he’ll take your money like he used to take pride.

But the difference now?

One of them gone for good.