Love that story. Got one of my own should you humor me.
I was at this strip club in Hollywood. One of the girls needed a ride home.
I had a 66 Datsun roadster. All of a sudden my clutch pedal just went to the floor. Oh shit. I knew it wasn't the master cylinder as I’d replaced that a week before. It was the the slave cylinder.
Wokesters, please don’t get upset. That’s what it’s called. ( I didn’t name it
)
Anyway, luckily I had a brand new one in the trunk. So at 2 in the morning, in the dark, without a flashlight, I installed the new slave cylinder.
Good thing she was there. She pushed the pedal and let go while I was bleeding the clutch. Me being nice and willing to drive her home was a blessing for me. No way would I have been able to do it without an assistant to pump the clutch pedal. All went well and we were on our merry way.