#Auto Body Paint Shop Edmonton

[franksautobody]

Unmasking the Truth: Common Myths about Auto Body Repair Debunked

Auto body repair can be a mysterious realm for many vehicle owners, but at Frank’s Auto Body, we believe in transparency and ensuring our customers are well-informed. Today, we’re unmasking some of the most common myths about auto body repair, shedding light on the truths that every vehicle owner should know.

Myth #1: Insurance Dictates the Choice of Repair Shop

One prevalent myth is that insurance companies can dictate where you get your vehicle repaired. The truth is, as a vehicle owner, you have the right to choose the auto body shop that you trust and prefer. At Frank’s Auto Body, the Best Auto Body Shop in Edmonton, we work seamlessly with insurance providers to streamline the claims process, ensuring your vehicle is repaired to the highest standards without compromising your choice of repair shop.

Myth #2: All Auto Body Shops Are the Same

Not all Auto Body Shops in Edmonton are created equal. Each shop has its own set of skills, expertise, and standards. Frank’s Auto Body, the top Auto Body Shop in Edmonton, takes pride in standing out from the crowd. Our technicians undergo rigorous training, and our state-of-the-art facility is equipped with cutting-edge technology to provide superior Auto Body Repairs in Edmonton. We prioritize quality and customer satisfaction, setting us apart as a trusted choice in Edmonton.

Myth #3: DIY Repairs Are as Effective as Professional Repairs

The rise of online tutorials might suggest that do-it-yourself (DIY) auto body repairs are a viable option. However, the reality is that professional expertise and specialized equipment are crucial for achieving lasting, high-quality repairs. DIY attempts can often lead to more damage, increased repair costs, and compromise the safety and integrity of your vehicle. Trusting your vehicle to the professionals at Frank’s Auto Body, the Best Car Body Shop in Edmonton, ensures a comprehensive and reliable repair process.

Myth #4: Small Dents Can Be Ignored Without Consequences

It’s a common misconception that small dents are purely cosmetic and can be ignored without consequences. However, even minor dents can compromise the structural integrity of your vehicle and may lead to more significant issues over time. Frank’s Auto Body recommends addressing even the smallest dents promptly to prevent further damage and maintain the overall health of your vehicle.

Myth #5: Insurance Premiums Will Increase After Filing a Claim for Auto Body Repair

Fearing an increase in insurance premiums is a major concern for many vehicle owners contemplating filing a claim for Auto Body Repair in Edmonton. In reality, most insurance policies are designed to cover repairs resulting from accidents or unforeseen events without affecting your premium rates. It’s essential to communicate with your insurance provider and understand the terms of your policy. Frank’s Auto Body, the Collision Repair Experts in Edmonton, works closely with insurance companies to facilitate a smooth claims process for our customers.

In conclusion, navigating the world of Auto Body Repair in Edmonton requires separating fact from fiction. At Frank’s Auto Body, we’re committed to demystifying the process and providing our customers with accurate information. Trust in our expertise, and let us debunk the myths surrounding auto body repair, ensuring your vehicle receives the best care at the Top Auto Body Shop in Edmonton.

[franksauto12]

The team of experts at Frank’s Auto Body Shop offer car owners in Edmonton complete car care services such as car painting and car dent removal. We are the best car body shop in Edmonton.

[fumpkins]

How an old oven became a sink

A bathroom seems like a weird place for an oven. Unless that oven… is actually a sink. (Cari Shane/)

When DIY inspiration strikes, you’ve got to go with it. For me, that meant impulsively salvaging a rusty, musty, 1940s electric oven with a vague plan to turn it into a vanity and sink. It also sometimes means bringing in some help, which is how an auto mechanic ended up using body shop techniques on a kitchen appliance destined for a bathroom.

My vision began to materialize when I first spotted the beat-up, creamed corn-colored electric roaster at a sprawling upcycle warehouse just over the Washington, D.C. line in Edmonton, Maryland. I was there, I thought, to find a discarded dresser that I’d paint, top with a reclaimed basin, and then plumb. Instead, I paid Community Forklift $99 for a vintage piece with some dents and a bit of rust, but also a chrome top that popped open on the first try.

Inside, I found an illustrated instruction book filled with recipes and images of a proud-looking woman in a June Cleaver-like outfit—with pearls, pumps, and all—roasting meats, potatoes, and other vegetables in three separate lidded containers that fit like puzzle pieces inside the oven’s cavern. She even had an apple cobbler baking in a fourth one. When I plugged it in, the stove still worked.

My first thought was to affix a basin to the chrome top; but, at 5-foot-4, I would have needed a stool to wash my hands. Plus, I wanted to be able to open and close the lid. So, I nixed that idea. Then I thought I’d put the basin inside the oven section, but when I removed all the little containers with lids, I found the basin I’d bought was too big and awkward-looking. So, I kept thinking. And then it came to me: The roasting cavern itself would be the basin. I’d be able to keep the chrome top closed and visitors would walk into my powder room to find an oven. Perfect.

Not everyone took to my conversion idea with rapid applause. Even the plumber who was working on my renovated 1914 D.C. rowhouse was perplexed, likely by what I was asking him to do and because I assumed he knew how to do it. He didn’t.

It was hard to find someone who did. “Hi, I’d like to turn an old electric roaster into a pretty vanity and sink. Can you help me do that?” was how I began myriad phone calls with unsuspecting tradespeople. Many went unreturned. Others ended abruptly. I even drove around with the oven in my car trunk for a few months to physically show people what I was talking about. And then I found Sarven Mermer. At 27, he’d owned his body shop, Eurowerks, for six years already.

Like all the other conversations I’d had about my roaster rehab, my first chat with Mermer was also bizarre.

“My initial reaction when you called me was, ‘That was an odd thing to work on,’” Mermer recalled in a recent phone conversation. We hadn’t spoken in about five years, but he remembered the lady with the oven overhaul.

But Mermer quickly realized what others hadn’t—fixing my oven was like fixing a car. He approached my roaster as a mini-roadster, albeit one without wheels or an engine.

“It’s the same material as a car … sheet metal. So, as long as it’s a material we can work with and we have experience with, anything can be done,” he said. “It was beat up, but it was something we could tackle.”

Mermer’s attitude was exactly what I was looking for. He would be my converter. I picked “Mercedes Red” as the oven’s final color and it was off to the races.

“We took it apart, piece by piece … like a beat-up car, and went to work,” recalls Mermer. “We did exactly what we would have done on a car, but we did it on an oven.”

How it all came together

Eurowerks first tackled the oven’s many dents, treating the appliance like a dinged-up car door. They smoothed the metal pieces with a dent puller, slathered fiberglass paste on the repaired spots, sanded them down, then primed them for painting before sanding them again. Then, they rebuilt the roaster, without its chrome top, for painting.

The faucet isn’t part of the oven-sink, but swings out from the wall next to it. (Cari Shane/)

They put the oven in a room built to hold a truck or large SUV. Like an operating room, the space was flooded by fluorescent light. Unlike an operating room, it was sealed shut with steel doors fitted with filtration systems to help ensure that dust or other airborne particulates didn’t contaminate the paint job. The roaster looked miniscule in that great room, less than 1/16 the size of its usual occupants. “I used about the same amount of paint that’s used to paint a fender. It wasn’t much,” Mermer recalls, with a chuckle.

Once the four coats of paint had dried, they really made the oven shine with a high-end clear coat specially made for European car brands. To rid the clear coat of any imperfections and create a smooth, shiny surface, they used 3,000- to 5,000-grit sandpaper—first on a power sander with water (wet sanding) and then by hand. They also polished the chrome top, which was fairly rusty, and reattached it.

At this point, the oven was pretty, but I still didn’t have a sink. Mermer kept working.

“Mechanical engineering is my hobby … I like bringing old stuff back to life,” he told me. “I went through some ideas and made it happen.”

There were some challenges with the plumbing and how the water would drain. For one, the bottom of the oven was flat, so the water would accumulate there instead of draining as it should. Mermer removed the fire-retardant insulation from around the oven’s heating element to expose the bottom of what would become the sink—where the plumbing would go. Then, he came up with the idea to punch down the center of the roasting cavern to give it the slope necessary for water to drain.

Mermer’s final job was to drill a hole so the vanity could be plumbed. He also test-fitted some piping to make sure the plumbing would actually work.

It was all done in about two months, at a cost of $250.

“We didn’t know how much to charge you. There was no guide,” Mermer remembers, laughing.

When I brought home my funky, bright red, chrome-topped vanity and sink, all it needed was a plumber to add and seal a drain, install piping, and connect ���The Little Red Roaster” to the plumbing in the wall. Of course, I also needed a faucet. It wouldn’t be part of the sink, though—I chose to put it on the side wall, out of the way so the chrome top over the basin could be opened without interruption. It’s the most basic faucet system I could find, and when it’s not in use, the fixture itself lays flush against the wall to the right side of the oven. Once visitors figure out how to open the top—I’ve provided instructions in the form of a rhyming poem on the wall nearby—they’ve simply got to swing the faucet over the basin to wash their hands.

I’ve received a few criticisms from guests (and my children) “annoyed” that they had to read a poem to operate a bathroom sink. But overall, most people leave the powder room with a goofy grin, waxing “poetic” about “The Little Red Roaster” that I did invent.

New post published on: https://www.livescience.tech/2019/08/26/how-an-old-oven-became-a-sink/

[ntrending]

How an old oven became a sink

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/how-an-old-oven-became-a-sink/

How an old oven became a sink

A bathroom seems like a weird place for an oven. Unless that oven… is actually a sink. (Cari Shane/)

When DIY inspiration strikes, you’ve got to go with it. For me, that meant impulsively salvaging a rusty, musty, 1940s electric oven with a vague plan to turn it into a vanity and sink. It also sometimes means bringing in some help, which is how an auto mechanic ended up using body shop techniques on a kitchen appliance destined for a bathroom.

My vision began to materialize when I first spotted the beat-up, creamed corn-colored electric roaster at a sprawling upcycle warehouse just over the Washington, D.C. line in Edmonton, Maryland. I was there, I thought, to find a discarded dresser that I’d paint, top with a reclaimed basin, and then plumb. Instead, I paid Community Forklift $99 for a vintage piece with some dents and a bit of rust, but also a chrome top that popped open on the first try.

Inside, I found an illustrated instruction book filled with recipes and images of a proud-looking woman in a June Cleaver-like outfit—with pearls, pumps, and all—roasting meats, potatoes, and other vegetables in three separate lidded containers that fit like puzzle pieces inside the oven’s cavern. She even had an apple cobbler baking in a fourth one. When I plugged it in, the stove still worked.

My first thought was to affix a basin to the chrome top; but, at 5-foot-4, I would have needed a stool to wash my hands. Plus, I wanted to be able to open and close the lid. So, I nixed that idea. Then I thought I’d put the basin inside the oven section, but when I removed all the little containers with lids, I found the basin I’d bought was too big and awkward-looking. So, I kept thinking. And then it came to me: The roasting cavern itself would be the basin. I’d be able to keep the chrome top closed and visitors would walk into my powder room to find an oven. Perfect.

Not everyone took to my conversion idea with rapid applause. Even the plumber who was working on my renovated 1914 D.C. rowhouse was perplexed, likely by what I was asking him to do and because I assumed he knew how to do it. He didn’t.

It was hard to find someone who did. “Hi, I’d like to turn an old electric roaster into a pretty vanity and sink. Can you help me do that?” was how I began myriad phone calls with unsuspecting tradespeople. Many went unreturned. Others ended abruptly. I even drove around with the oven in my car trunk for a few months to physically show people what I was talking about. And then I found Sarven Mermer. At 27, he’d owned his body shop, Eurowerks, for six years already.

Like all the other conversations I’d had about my roaster rehab, my first chat with Mermer was also bizarre.

“My initial reaction when you called me was, ‘That was an odd thing to work on,’” Mermer recalled in a recent phone conversation. We hadn’t spoken in about five years, but he remembered the lady with the oven overhaul.

But Mermer quickly realized what others hadn’t—fixing my oven was like fixing a car. He approached my roaster as a mini-roadster, albeit one without wheels or an engine.

“It’s the same material as a car … sheet metal. So, as long as it’s a material we can work with and we have experience with, anything can be done,” he said. “It was beat up, but it was something we could tackle.”

Mermer’s attitude was exactly what I was looking for. He would be my converter. I picked “Mercedes Red” as the oven’s final color and it was off to the races.

“We took it apart, piece by piece … like a beat-up car, and went to work,” recalls Mermer. “We did exactly what we would have done on a car, but we did it on an oven.”

How it all came together

Eurowerks first tackled the oven’s many dents, treating the appliance like a dinged-up car door. They smoothed the metal pieces with a dent puller, slathered fiberglass paste on the repaired spots, sanded them down, then primed them for painting before sanding them again. Then, they rebuilt the roaster, without its chrome top, for painting.

The faucet isn’t part of the oven-sink, but swings out from the wall next to it. (Cari Shane/)

They put the oven in a room built to hold a truck or large SUV. Like an operating room, the space was flooded by fluorescent light. Unlike an operating room, it was sealed shut with steel doors fitted with filtration systems to help ensure that dust or other airborne particulates didn’t contaminate the paint job. The roaster looked miniscule in that great room, less than 1/16 the size of its usual occupants. “I used about the same amount of paint that’s used to paint a fender. It wasn’t much,” Mermer recalls, with a chuckle.

Once the four coats of paint had dried, they really made the oven shine with a high-end clear coat specially made for European car brands. To rid the clear coat of any imperfections and create a smooth, shiny surface, they used 3,000- to 5,000-grit sandpaper—first on a power sander with water (wet sanding) and then by hand. They also polished the chrome top, which was fairly rusty, and reattached it.

At this point, the oven was pretty, but I still didn’t have a sink. Mermer kept working.

“Mechanical engineering is my hobby … I like bringing old stuff back to life,” he told me. “I went through some ideas and made it happen.”

There were some challenges with the plumbing and how the water would drain. For one, the bottom of the oven was flat, so the water would accumulate there instead of draining as it should. Mermer removed the fire-retardant insulation from around the oven’s heating element to expose the bottom of what would become the sink—where the plumbing would go. Then, he came up with the idea to punch down the center of the roasting cavern to give it the slope necessary for water to drain.

Mermer’s final job was to drill a hole so the vanity could be plumbed. He also test-fitted some piping to make sure the plumbing would actually work.

It was all done in about two months, at a cost of $250.

“We didn’t know how much to charge you. There was no guide,” Mermer remembers, laughing.

When I brought home my funky, bright red, chrome-topped vanity and sink, all it needed was a plumber to add and seal a drain, install piping, and connect “The Little Red Roaster” to the plumbing in the wall. Of course, I also needed a faucet. It wouldn’t be part of the sink, though—I chose to put it on the side wall, out of the way so the chrome top over the basin could be opened without interruption. It’s the most basic faucet system I could find, and when it’s not in use, the fixture itself lays flush against the wall to the right side of the oven. Once visitors figure out how to open the top—I’ve provided instructions in the form of a rhyming poem on the wall nearby—they’ve simply got to swing the faucet over the basin to wash their hands.

I’ve received a few criticisms from guests (and my children) “annoyed” that they had to read a poem to operate a bathroom sink. But overall, most people leave the powder room with a goofy grin, waxing “poetic” about “The Little Red Roaster” that I did invent.

Written By Cari Shane

[franksauto12]

You shouldn’t trust just anyone with your vehicle. When you need expert auto body repair work in North or West Edmonton, call the experts at Frank’s Auto Body. We take care of every type of auto body repair, including bodywork, auto painting, fender repair, frame repair, rock chips, touch-ups, scratch and dent repair, and even rust and unsightly hail damage repair.