Then, once I get the clutch out so I can compare, I discover that they sold me the wrong feckin' clutch kit.
I had to borrow a feckin' Neon to get home with and it's for sale so I can't even smoke in the feckin' thing.
Tomorrow night, assuming the geniuses at the parts store can figure out what the right feckin' part is, I can maybe put the feckin' thing back together again.
It's just a damned clutch. An hour and half, two hours, and the truck should have been back on the road. Christ, I had a full-time mechanic with me, I was working in his garage.