I’ll admit that I was afraid of being judged when I approached the woman from the town DPW to ask about the disposal of waste motor oil. After all, the apartment complex where we’d been living for the past three years wouldn’t allow me to put a wrench on my car for any reason, including the replacement of its oil and filter. What kind of reception would I get in our new town?
“Oh, we love people who change their own oil!” She assured me. She explained that the DPW garage is licensed to burn used motor oil in its heating system, which meant that every quart I threw away was a quart of heating oil the town didn’t have to buy. Makes sense—even if I had been hoping that she’d tell me that what the DPW admired was my gritty, do-it-yourself approach to automotive maintenance.
(By the way, if you’re wondering how many car owners do change their own oil, the answer, according to a 2024 MarketWatch survey I recently read, is 44 percent. Among baby boomers like me, it’s just 17 percent, with Gen Z leading the way at 55 percent.)
This getting-to-know-the-neighbors thing is a delicate dance, and I wanted to make sure that I got off on the right foot with my first oil change at our new house. It really wouldn’t do to have the neighborhood kids riding their bikes through puddles of dirty oil in the street or learning new and colorful expressions from me as one thing or another went sideways. So, here’s how I approached the whole operation.
The first step was to go to the nearest auto parts supplier, which happens to be an O’Reilly, to buy a 5-quart jug of oil and an oil filter for my 1992 Mazda Miata. I’d kept all my tools when we moved from our old house into our apartment three years earlier, but I’d gotten rid of my old funnels and drain pan, and so I had to buy replacements for those, too. David, the O’Reilly counter worker, helped me choose among the half-dozen or so brands of filter, and I grabbed a jug of Castrol, figuring that its British heritage made it a good choice for a Miata, the most British of Japanese roadsters.
Back home, I got the car up on the ramps and dug out the owner’s manual to read the oil-change instructions. This was my first time changing the oil in this car, which I’d bought while we were living at the apartment, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t make some boneheaded move, like draining the gearbox instead of the sump.

The underside of the Miata turned out to be an easy place to work. I dragged out a big piece of cardboard to prevent spills from getting too far, removed the oil filler cap, and got my drain pan in place before addressing the 19-mm drain plug, which came loose without a fight. As always, hot, dirty oil streamed down my arm and inside my sleeve as I fumbled with the plug.
This, naturally, was when I remembered that I’d left my roll of paper towels inside the garage. I retrieved them while doing my best to avoid contaminating my workspace with old oil, and gave the drain plug a cleaning.
I’d never laid eyes on the oil filter before, and reading the manual, I now understood why: It’s buried underneath the intake manifold on the passenger side, near the starter motor. The manual said it could be removed from above or below. I went at it from above, working my hand around various components to get to the filter. Fortunately, the technician at the last drive-through oil change place I’d used hadn’t overtightened it, and I was able to unscrew it without resorting to tools. I did the future me a favor by hand-tightening the new filter.
One trick I’d learned a while back was to set the drain plug on the cap of the oil jug, to reduce the chances of pouring all that nice, fresh oil through the engine and directly onto the driveway. I snugged the drain plug, broke out my new funnel, and poured 3.6 quarts of fresh Castrol into the engine. I don’t know why, but I find this step one of the most satisfying bits of automotive maintenance. A check of the dipstick, a test-drive around the neighborhood, and the job was done for another 3,000 miles.
Ideally, the used oil goes into the empty jug, but it couldn’t in this case, because there was still more than a quart of the new 10W-30 in there. I’ll have to find some other suitable container for that and then pour the contents of the drain pan into the jug, using the same funnel-and-cardboard approach that worked so well in the driveway.
Then, I’ll drop off my container of used oil at the town garage. I don’t expect the DPW workers to applaud, but I can’t say that it wouldn’t be a nice gesture.
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