About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. At night, when no one else was around, an old dog would appear outside The Smog Spot. Every evening, a delivery driver noticed it sitting in the same spot, staring intently through the workshop window. One day, the delivery driver decided to wave back at the dog. To his surprise, the canine wagged its tail and trotted inside. It walked right up to the mechanic, sat down, and pointedly looked at the tire pressure gauge on the counter. Everyone agreed that from then on, ‘the old wise dog’ became the best customer who never complained—especially about overinflated tires.
2. One morning, a delivery driver noticed something odd on the workshop’s door: ‘If you can fix it, we’ll pay. If not, bring donuts.’ Since then, strange things started appearing in the parking lot after hours. Soon enough, a mechanic found himself fixing bicycles, painting flowers, and even assembling IKEA furniture—all left anonymously overnight. One day, an old sign appeared above the entrance: 'The Smog Spot: Fixing Cars…and Maybe Your Life!' A delivery driver finally showed up with a box of freshly baked donuts.
3. Late every Tuesday afternoon, just as the last customer left, The Smog Spot's air conditioning would suddenly kick on for no reason. A cold blast would fill the empty garage, making the lone mechanic shiver and wonder who might be enjoying such comfort. One day, an old delivery driver walked in, complaining about his truck’s heater. ‘Must be a ghost,’ muttered the mechanic, flicking on the AC again. Sure enough, a warm breeze followed him out. Since then, whenever anyone complained about their heating, the AC would mysteriously turn on—making winter repairs cozy and summer ones chilly—but everyone agreed it was better than freezing or roasting.
4. Ever since they fixed my car there, strange things started happening in the early hours. Every Wednesday morning, right after closing, someone would leave a fresh loaf of bread on the workbench. One Sunday afternoon, while I was napping, I heard a soft knock on the door. It was an old man, holding a thermos and a plate with freshly baked cookies. ‘They said you’d appreciate these,’ he whispered, then vanished into thin air. To this day, I keep a jar of cookies on hand just in case.’