Website Designed & Created by Scott "Gonzo" Weaver 2010.
Stories
GONZO'S TOOL BOX
Stories from the trenches and more.
THE DOG STORY
Eventually, after many years I just called all the stories that related to customers explaining the problems with their cars as “dog stories.” For example, If someone came in, and I asked the usual question, “What’s wrong with the car?” and I didn’t get a response like, “my brake lights don’t work, the transmission doesn’t shift, my engine seems to have developed a miss….Etc…”, but instead they started the conversation with a somewhat unrelated saga of their latest adventures - which somehow involved the car….Well, then that’s a dog story. Most of the time I would half heartedly listen. I would usually straighten the desk, or scribble some notes if there was something tangible in the midst of the never ending biography. Oh, eventually they would get to the point. Sometimes it took a while and sometimes I may have to scribble out a second note because the first scribble doesn’t apply to today’s problem. That first problem happened years ago, but, they feel it’s necessary for me to know about…EVERYTHING.
If you try to interrupt them in mid story, they’ll get off track, usually getting upset, and this whole process takes longer than it was going to take if you would have just shut up and wait till they’re done. Then you finally can ask questions regarding the actual repair. Everybody does this in some form or fashion. Most of the time, you don’t even know you’re doing it. Take for example this story.
This, for the record, is the story that gave this whole thing its name. The Dog Story…..
This was one of those days, where nothing was easy. It seemed every job had some sort of hassle involved. Like, a simple oil change turns into a nightmare, because the bolt is stripped in the oil pan, or the filter was screwed so tight from the last guy that you have to punch a screw driver thru it and use it as a lever to work the filter off. Every job had to be explained in detail, with no mistakes in order to get the correct parts. It was one of those days where details mattered and the fluff wasn’t necessary. It just bogged down the daily grind and brought everything to a screeching halt. That was the kind of day I was having when this novelist showed up.
A customer came in; no previous phone call, just a walk in customer. I said “Hello, what can I do for ya today?”
He answered “Well, hello, ya sure can.”
“So what is the problem with the car?” I asked, puzzled.
Little did I know that I should sit down and wait this one out. He began his verse and chapter like this;
“Me and my dog were going to my grandmother’s funeral up north of here, she was a great lady, blue hair and all, I kind of liked her cooking, but not as much as I like my other grandmother’s, but she was always so nice to me. I was making my way to the viewing, north of here, but not too far, sure gets colder up there quicker than it does down here you know. I really hate funerals, dead people and all, I really don’t even want to go to my own, but I guess I will, since I’ll be the one in the casket you know.” “Well, it began to rain, not hard, but pretty steady, just on and on, some people would call that a drizzle. I don’t know about that, it’s just rain to me. When I came to some railroad tracks, an old set that’s for sure. It didn’t have one of those fancy automatic gates and all. It had those railroad ‘x’ signs with the flashing lights, you know the type. Good thing they still make those; without that flashing light someone could have just zoomed across there and would have never seen a train coming. Just as I crossed the tracks my dog jumped out of the window and then the car died…………..
I was intrigued, fascinated, captivated and totally spell bound by this man’s detailed description of a day in his life. I couldn’t help but sit back for a second and take in this story, of life, weather, animals, and a car. Wow, what a story. Sounded like one of those old country songs. Having the kind of day that I was having, I took a moment and just sat there reliving his story in my head, trying to piece together my scribbled notes and see if there was anything I could use as a diagnostic start of this guy’s problem. Let’s see, hmm, he went over the railroad tracks on his way to his grandmother’s funeral in the rain when the dog jumped out the window.With all the confusing notes I had in front of me the only thing I could think of to reply with was, “So, how’s the dog?”
He looked at me as if he was a deer staring at the headlights. “Huh, what are you talking about? I was talking about my car”, he said.
This guy looked like he had enough already, but since my day wasn’t going without complications I thought I would play along with his tale of tales. “I know that sir, I replied, I can take care of the car, no problem there, and I am sorry about your grandmother. Sure wish she could give it another try with her cooking. My one grandmother was an excellent cook. Loved to go there when I was little, and the rain, isn’t much I can do about that, a slight drizzle is great for flowers, my wife tells me that a lot. Maybe putting the window up would have kept the dog in the car, but you left me hanging here. I’m just wondering what happened to the dog? Did ya go get him? Hmm, I wonder if that’s what made the dog jumpy, you know rain and all, or maybe it was the railroad tracks. So where is the dog at now? What kind of dog is it? Have ya had it long? What’s the dogs’ name? Gosh I love dogs.”
Now it was his turn to sit back and ponder. Could it be he forgot a step, missed some important fact, did the dog really jump out of the window, was there even really a dog, did the dog have blue hair???? Was I going to miss the most thrilling moment of all time, because one bit of important information didn’t make it in the text of this story? I’m sitting there with anticipation. I could see the deer in the headlights stare has reached the crash point. He answered, “F.U.”, and walked out the door, never to be seen or heard from again.”
So, I guess I’ll never know what happened to the dog or for that matter how well the funeral went, or if it stopped raining. The car … well, I guess some other poor mechanic is going to have to listen to this entire story all over again and maybe get to the bottom of this guy’s problem. Or, should I go into more detail?+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Old Sarge
I met this great man through his son, who happened to be the driver of that Chevy van from the furniture store that was my very first customer. Sarge isn’t his real name, but that’s what I called him. He was a retired Marine Corps cook. I met him one day when he came in with a sick Cadillac.
The old Cadillac hardly had any power at all; just as slow and lazy as a snail. I was only in business for a few months, and didn’t know anybody. I didn’t have any work to speak of, so even though it wasn’t an electrical problem (as he originally thought), I jumped right in and found the problem. It was a clogged catalytic converter. Unbelievably, it wasn’t even welded in place. I could take off the clamps, and remove it without much hassle.
Back then I didn’t have a lift to put the car in the air, so I had to do the whole job on the ground. Well, old Sarge just sat there and watched me do the whole thing. I think he was a little suspicious of this skinny little white kid who was hacking away at his car, but he patiently waited, being the good man he was. We got to talking about things, and it wasn’t long before he found out that I was also in Marine Corps. Now we had some common ground. We were buds for life, always cutting up with each other.
One hot August afternoon Sarge brought in one of his other cars to get some work done. I had the back door to the shop open, and Sarge steps outside for a little fresh air. I thought I could hear the guy crying or mumbling something, couldn’t tell which it was. I stuck my head around the corner, “Sarge, ah …. you ok, buddy?” I asked.
He proceeded to tell me how the house he grew up in was close by, before it became a shopping center. He talked about his dad and family, and how he hunted rabbits right where we were standing. It was during the Depression. Hard times, and things were scarce in those days. How his dad hid a pig in a pit, not too far from here. Where they kept the corn mash for making moon shine. I sat and listened to this hardened Marine tell me his life’s story that day, from his first car to how he ended up in the Corps. I didn’t answer the phone, or go up front to see if anyone came in. I just sat out there in that August heat, drenched in sweat, listening to this fella tell me his life story.
I’ll never forget that afternoon. I’ll also never forget how every time he came to my shop over the next 25 years he would sneak up on me, and yell in a drill instructor voice, “TEN HUT!” I would snap to attention just like a good Marine should. Sometimes, just to get a rise out of Sarge I would purposely hit my head on the hood of the car I was working on. He got a kick out of it every time.
Sarge passed away a couple years back. I still think about him now and then. I hope he’s up there hunting rabbits, or something. Maybe he’s guarding the gates like every Marine hopes to be doing when their time comes. Or, he could be just waiting there to try and surprise me with one more “TEN HUT” when I show up.
Sarge, I miss having you around the shop.
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Mr. Gorillalilla
With all the talk about the cars with push button starting systems and the runaway acceleration problems it made me think of all the ways everyone has been talking about as far as what is the best method to safely stop the vehicle in these instances. Most everyone will agree that turning off the ignition is NOT the best solution, however, not everyone can agree on whether or not a driver in a panic situation will remember to put the car in neutral instead of reaching for key or that they shouldn’t turn the key back to the “steering” lock position. And for those vehicles with push to start that an operator would remember that you have to hold the “start” button down for several seconds before the car will shut off unless it’s in park position. So a lot of the conversations I’m involved in end up back at the steering lock mechanism, which, in a panic situation is the deadly “lose control” factor. Not to forget the fact that during this so called emergency situation you might be driving at close to 100 miles, which could be scary enough without having to worry about shutting the car off. The conversations I get involved in end up with the controversy over whether or not the “general public” will remember and follow the procedures each and every time they are in an emergency situation.
This made me think of a situation I had with a customer a few years ago. Let’s call him “Mr. Gorillalilla”… nice guy and all, but he was a huge muscular dude and as strong as an ox. His mid 80’s Jeep CJ was equipped with a key and lock setup that allowed you to turn the key off without it going all the way to steering lock position. There was a lever that had to be pushed down in order to rotate the key back to the off position and remove the key from the ignition lock.
Mr. Gorillalilla had brought his CJ in because he couldn’t get the key out of the ignition lock. Examining the problem led to the linkage arms inside the steering column that had been bent and allowed the key and tumbler to rotate around the lock-out mechanism. No parts were really needed; I just had to take it apart and straighten the bent section of the mechanism and reinstall everything. He was relieved that the problem was nothing major and was soon off on his way.
The very next day he was back, but this time he wasn’t a very happy rock crawler like he was the first time.
“It’s doing the same thing,” he angrily yelled back to me.
“Hmm, I wonder how that could be,” I said, curious as to how it left in perfect working order but now it’s back they way it was.
“Let me get it into the shop and check it out.”
Once I had pulled the steering column back down to where I was the day before I noticed the same parts were bent in the same manner as they were when I first seen them. Now how can that be? Not knowing the whole story I went ahead and put everything back to working order again.
“Here ya go, I haven’t a clue how in the world that happened sir, sorry about that,” I said.
Mr. Gorillalilla thanked me for my time and proceeded to leave. Before he left the parking lot he tried it several times to make sure it was working. It wasn’t long before he was back through the door screaming at me again.
“What do I have to do to get you guys to fix this right,” he shouted at me.
I went out to the parking lot and looked at his problem again. This time he followed me out to his car. I was totally taken by surprise. Just a few minutes ago I personally saw the switch move just like it was suppose to and I tried it myself several times.
This time, I’m not moving the car. I went back into the shop and grabbed my tools. Right there in the parking lot I pulled it down as he watched me perform the operation on his steering column. I tried it several times myself before I let him try it. As soon as this big brute got behind the wheel I knew right there and then where the problem was. He wasn’t using the lever to release the key… he somehow, someway was strong enough to rotate the key over the lever mechanism and that was what was causing all the problems. The astonishing thing was he could not see that he was the cause of the problem and insisted that it was a defect in the column. After all the debating I told him that I could remove the “safety” and then he could turn the key off without using the lever anymore. That was fine with him. I tore into the column for a fourth time and removed the latching arm that was attached to the outside release lever. Now I want to complain, but complaining about it doesn’t do any good. This big brute had such strong hands he could pull the tumbler back across the stops. The whole thing could have been avoided if the vehicle operator was more aware of how to operate his vehicle correctly. It seems no matter how many times I run across a problem like this I’m the one that ends up putting the labor hours in even though the whole time the problem wasn’t my workmanship but this Gorilla’s brute strength.
My point about this whole affair?
This was a perfect example of a safety system that failed because the owner wouldn’t follow the procedures, and this wasn’t even a panic situation. I’m glad I’m not the engineer, because I don’t know how I would solve these issues we are having with these latest designs and technologies (drive by wire). But, I will say this, when it comes to adding or changing the systems in the cars to alleviate problems from the driver’s seat… I hope they try making the designs and procedures “Gorilla” proof.
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Even in a big the city it’s still can be a small world
I’ve been in private business long enough to gain quite a following from all over the city and surrounding areas. Most of it good, I hope… and then there are some of my customers that once they get to know me they’ll bring just about anything into the shop for me to repair.
Just the other day I had one of my regulars bring in a huge lawnmower for me to look at. It has a Caterpillar diesel engine on this huge grass cutting machine the likes of which I’ve never seen before. But as with anything mechanical/electrical if given the right tools and the proper information I’ll take on the challenge.
It wouldn’t start; the first thing I could tell about it was the starter bendix was out of it. It would hit the flywheel spin a quarter turn and then nothing. The bendix would stay engaged and the starter motor was spinning like mad but the bendix never moved. Each time I would turn the key the same thing would happen. The engine would spin just a bit and then the bendix would just stop turning. I took the starter off and gave him a call.
Since his place of business was just around the corner it didn’t take him long to show up. “I’ll go get it rebuilt,” he said, as he grabbed the starter and headed out the door.
A few hours later he was back, but the starter wasn’t repaired. He had taken it to two different starter overhaul shops and both said it was Ok… I thought that was a little strange… this thing was in dire need of a bendix. I muscled the engine over with a pry bar just to make sure there was no issues there, it was fine. I was very certain the bendix was at fault, there was no mistake about it. But, if the overhaul repair shops have as good a reputation for their work as I have, I’ll have to take another look at this whole thing and be sure I’m not diagnosing it wrong.
I stuck the starter back on and as I expected the same thing was happening to the starter.
I decided to skip this little problem and try to determine if anything else was wrong… because according to the owner the starter probably wasn’t the only problem wrong with it. He had already tried a new ignition switch but when that didn’t do the trick he brought it to me.
After checking the wiring diagram it was clear that one wire was on the wrong post on the replacement ignition switch. I asked the owner if he made sure he put the wires back correctly when he changed the switch, he not only was extremely sure that he had them in the same place, he also took a photo of the old switch wiring so that there was no mistake about where each of the wires went. With that information it had to mean only one thing… the ignition switch had to have been wired wrong from either a previous repair attempt or from the factory. Because, the way it was hooked up the starter solenoid was engaged the whole time the engine was running.
I went ahead and moved the wires to the right spots and gave it one more try. When, I could get the starter to stay engaged long enough to spin the engine, there still wasn’t any voltage at the fuel cutoff solenoid. Something else had to be wrong with it. Time to consult the wiring diagrams again. Now it was only a matter of following the road map of a wires and trace out how all the individual safety cutoff switches played a part in the starting and running of this beast. Sure enough, one of the fail safe switches was faulty.
It should start now, that is, if you could get the crazy starter to engage long enough to throw the engine over top dead and create enough compression to keep itself going. It took several attempts of flicking the key on and off to get it to happen but it did finally start. Once it started I knew why no one noticed the starter bendix was still stuck out against the flywheel… you couldn’t hear a thing with this huge motor blaring away… (ear protection is in order) Now, the owner only had one more task to do. Take the starter back one more time to the rebuild shop and get a new bendix installed.
I offered to install a new bendix for him, but he insisted on going back to the overhaul shop and tell them about it. He said there was something about “putting a board in the bendix” which seemed to be the way both places checked to see if the bendix was any good. I’ll bet it would hold a board… but I don’t think a little old piece of wood jammed into the starter nose cone was any match for this big diesel motor.
I just hope my reputation has gotten to that end of the city, because he planned on telling them who said the bendix was bad. Even though the starter overhaul shop was convinced it wasn’t the bendix… he was going to insist on having one replaced.
A day later he had a new bendix and the big old grass munching beast was as good as new. Sometimes, all it takes is experience and a reputation to get your point across. Just make sure you can back it up with clear evidence and good diagnostic skills. It’s an excellent way of gaining a good reputation, even in the big city or the small world we live in…
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This story was relayed to me from one of my customers just the other day.
We got on the subject of dogs, big ones, little ones, and the ones we had as a child. My customer, Mike, was standing there ... in my lobby... with this half grin, half shock look on his face.... He said, "Gonzo, let me tell you a story" This is how it went.
My brother’s wife has this habit of thinking she is going to save the world and every living creature from harm no matter what it takes to accomplish this task. She was driving by an old cemetery when she noticed a large dog with no collar, full of burrs and looked like it hadn't eaten in a week. "Must be a stray honey, I'm stopping the car," she said. Now my brother who was sitting in the passenger seat has learned over the years not to say much about his wife's activities. Because, eventually things always end up back as his problem. This didn't seem like such a bad thing ... it's just a dog you know.
His wife got out of the car and opened the rear door. She yelled over to the dog, "Come here boy" and the dog took off for the car, jumped in the back seat ... puts it's paws on the back of the front seat and licks his face. So far things are looking good.
They got home and put him in the backyard. My brother and his wife walked thru the house and out the back sliding door to see where the dog had gone to. In a flash the dog whipped between the two of them and right into the house. My brother ran in after him. Just in time to find the dog in the corner with the family cat sticking out of both sides of its mouth. He ran over straddled the dog who by now, was thrashing the poor cat from one wall to wall. He reached with both hands and pried the cat out of the dog’s mouth. The cat was completely unharmed but more than likely will need counseling after this ordeal.
The dog is still in search mode looking for that cat, but my brother isn’t letting go. By this time he has a severe gash on his right leg from the claws of this un-kept dog and an even worse bite that nearly took of the tip of one of his fingers off.
Mad as can be, and partially bandage up by his quick thinking wife, he grabbed the dog and threw him back into the car. Of course by now the poor dog was whimpering and for the most part realized he had done something wrong. But my brother has already had enough. So back to the cemetery he went with the dog. When he got there he opened the car door and said "GET"... the dog jumped out, slammed the door and drove off....
That is until the police officer turned on his sirens and pulled him over... "Ah, sir, is that your dog?"
"No"
"Well, there is an ordinance for abandoning animals in the city limits.... that will be a five hundred dollar fine."
"WHAT! The dog bit me, damned near killed our cat... my wife spotted the dog here just hours ago... Look, I've got to go to the emergency room for stitches."
"The dog bit you sir, and it's not your dog... well, we have to call the vet and animal recovery... you'll need checked for rabies"
So off to the vets office, a police officer and animal recovery with a dog, all parading behind one shell shocked guy partially bandaged and bleeding on his steering wheel. At the vets office he was informed that he will either need weeks of shots and the dog will have to be put down... which will cost quite a bit. Or, you can have the dog put down, the dogs head sent off to have the brain stem checked for rabies and that will only take two or three days, which means you can avoid the shots all together. And, your cat may have to be put down if the dog is found to have rabies too.
That'll be another $500.00 to add my brother’s ever growing bill.... After finally getting to the emergency room, with the stitches, x-rays, medication, vet bill, state exam for rabies, the ticket no less for abandoning an animal... and don’t forget the now traumatized cat’s psychiatric consultations … which he is sure his wife will insist on.
The ever thoughtful-animal savior he married cost him nearly 3000.00 dollars in one afternoon for picking up some stray dog that licked him in the face… and he’s got the scars to prove it.
I think that'll be the last time that this ever happens at his house again.
Thanks Mike, great story, and I’ll make sure I tell everyone about it.
I’m just soooo glad it wasn’t me… this time……………
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I don’t got a gun
On a warm spring afternoon, the shop busy with jobs. It was just another day, working the hours away till it was quitting time, just like any other day. Why even the phone seemed to have a pleasant “ring” that day. My wife, Le Ann, was in the office working on the daily office paper work. Myself, I was in the shop turning wrenches and humming to the always constant radio in the background.
The shop was busy and things were going along without a hint of trouble, it was a story book day a blissful repairs. I even stopped for a moment to reflect on the wonderful day that it was… “Ah, it’s a fine day, a fine day indeed.” Why nothing could bother me today.
It’s about then I looked outside at the street in front of the shop. Hmm, police cars… 2 of them, driving slowly. Then in the far distance I could hear more cars coming this way, sirens blazing away. I looked back just in the nick of time to see the 2 squad cars that were in front of the shop tear down the street at high speed. Then 2 more came from the opposite direction, slowing down just in front of the shop. I walked towards the garage door just as a figure flew by me. This guy was on a flat out run for the furthest point away from those cop cars. You should have seen it; those cops were on this guy like a swarm of bees. The guy ducked around the corner with the cop cars in full pursuit. He didn’t stand a chance.
Where’s the wife, I need to go tell her about all of this… why this is exciting… wow, I can’t wait to tell her. As I reached for the door knob to the front lobby my wife was already opening the door. She was so frantic she could hardly speak.
“How could you leave me up here all by myself? Didn’t you hear me banging on the wall! I could have been killed,” gasping for breath as if it were her last.
“Calm down honey,” I said, “It was nothing. Nothing at all, did you see that guy, and the cop cars?”
“Nothing! What do you mean NOTHING!” shouting at me, “This guy comes in all sweaty, sits down in the lobby chair, and tells me he just needs a rest. Then tells me he wants to give himself up, and wanted me to call the cops. There he is sitting there holding his shirt up and tells me “I don’t got a gun” what was I suppose to do…? I called the cops and kept banging on the wall trying to get you to come up front.”
“Holy cow, dear,” I stood there in shock answering her, “Why didn’t you come and get me?”
“Ya Big Baboon! I was on the phone! Who do you think was calling for all these cop cars,” she screamed at me.
Her voice kept getting louder, and she was a total emotional wreck, but continued to tell me, “I couldn’t move, I had to talk to the cops, give them a description and the address, they kept telling me to stay on the line. I wanted to run out of there. The guy was out of breath and he didn’t look like he had an ounce of strength left. I tried banging on the wall thinking you would show up any minute. But, when this guy heard the sirens he took off again.”
It’s about then I understood the seriousness of the “gangster in the lobby”, my poor wife was terrified. There was no way she was going to spend another minute up front without some way of getting our attention in the back of the shop.
That afternoon I rigged up an 8.00 dollar 12 volt door bell from the hardware store with a 2 prong turn signal flasher from a car. Now if someone comes in the flasher causes the door bell to “ding”, “ding”, “ding” till the door closes. If the door buzzer doesn’t shut off in its usual pattern… drop the tools and run to the front... wife needs me.
This crude door bell set up has been a part of our shop since that day; I’ve changed the flasher two or three times since then… but not the bell, I’m guessing it’s about 15 years old by now, but it still works perfectly. I also installed a louder bell with an emergency button in several locations just in case the first “ding” didn’t get my attention.
I’m sure, if I hadn’t installed the door dinger that afternoon, I may have been spending a lot of sleepless nights on the couch. As they say… when one door closes another one opens…this time I can hear it open......... thanks to a dingy bad guy with no gun.
Wub ya honey … and yes it’s still true… it don’t get no better.
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Bottom Shocker:
A customer called [my auto electric shop] and said he just purchased a car from the police auction, but it had some sort of strange noise coming from the driver’s side electric seat. It seems every time he moved it there was a strange electrical sound. He thought there was something wrong with the seat motor.
He was coming to me, an auto electric technician, to get it fixed.
“Sure,” I said. “What kind of car is it?”
“It’s a Peugeot,” he answered.
I’m not much on Peugeots, but I told him I could take a quick look at it and see if I could do anything for him.
A day or so later the car arrived at the shop. After pulling it into a bay I tried the driver’s seat. Sure enough, as you moved the seat forward an inch or two, a horrible loud buzzing of electricity emanated from under the seat. Rolling the seat back would stop the noise. Well then, what to do? I rolled the seat forward to the spot that made the noise. It seemed to be pretty consistent, same place, same noise. When I moved the seat to the spot that made the noise I got out of the car and looked underneath. The noise immediately stopped … nothing, not a whisper of any strange noise or buzzing.
The car had an all black interior, black seats, black carpet; even the seat rails and brackets were solid black. It looked fine to me. Of course it’s still a Peugeot, and I just don’t go poking my head under Peugeot seats every day, so I must’ve been missing something.
I rolled the seat forward and back several times and still no noise. What in the world was going on?
I called over my helper and told him “Listen to this, see what you think.” The noise was gone. I explained to my helper what had happened. He was at a loss. I climbed back in the car and, sure enough, as long as I was sitting in the seat, it would make the noise. Getting back out of the car and trying it, nothing. Sit in the car and the noise happened every time. This is ridiculous. I heard the sound myself and I’m not going crazy, am I?
I got out again, but this time I had my helper get in and move the seat. He moved the seat forward and within a few inches it starting making the noise. I told him to lift his butt out of the seat…the noise stopped immediately. He tried several times. I tried a couple of times. We didn’t think anything of it. Actually, we were having fun with it. One of us would sit in the seat and make a fake pistol with our fingers as if we were shooting each other. Raise and lower our butts in and out the seat and play like we were Buck Rogers or something.
“OK, enough fun, sit back down,” I said, “I’ll look underneath this time.” I got down to where I could look under the seat at about the same time he was putting his weight back into the cushion. Then I saw the problem. Oh my! I had to look again and again just to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
My helper asked: “What is it?” with great surprise and anticipation. As I looked underneath the seat I could see a perfect bluish white lightning bolt glow about an inch or so long. It was pointed right at the bottom of the cushion but only a fraction of an inch from the metal bracing of the seat.
In a very calm voice I told him, “Now listen carefully, I want you to raise your butt out of the seat, and I’ll move the seat towards the rear. There is a police taser pointing at your keister right now. Move very carefully, and I don’t think you’ll get shocked.”
I think it shook him up a bit. But he carefully lifted his weight out of the seat. The taser was the exact same color as the carpet and under side of the seat. It was so well camouflaged that it appeared to a part of the seat mechanism. If it wasn’t for the lightning bolt, I don’t think anyone could have spotted it. It really looked like a part of the seat brackets. After moving the seat back, the taser eased off of the button and came back to rest with the business end pointing harmlessly away from his “derriere.”
I then reached under the seat and pulled the butt buzzer out from under the seat. I called the customer and told him what I found. To say the least he was shocked.
So were we for that matter… well, almost.
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The Janitor
Granted I don’t wear my finest clothes to work, and I wouldn’t think a three piece suit would be a good choice. I wear what’s appropriate, old jeans, a washed out company shirt, and a work bib loaded down with hand tools. The bib I buy off the tool trucks from time to time and as I wear the old one out I’ll replace it. The bib allows me to carry all the daily essentials that I need most often. After awhile, the old bib gets pretty ragged looking and the old shirt starts to show major fatigue. My wife keeps threatening me that she is going to toss some of my shirts and buy new ones. That hasn’t happen yet, but I’m sure it will someday.
As you can tell, my appearance is (at times) pretty ragged and probably would make anyone who didn’t know me quite suspicious of whom or what my purpose was at the shop. But that said, what I am, is a mechanic, and a pretty good one. In the mean time, I don’t want to have to be putting on “airs” for somebody just because they don’t like the way I’m dressed… to bad… this is what ya get.
One evening … late evening… I was the last one at the shop and I was heading home. I turned on the alarm and headed out the door. My usual ride home is my ever faithful old truck…. Gerdie…. She’s an old truck, a good one though. It’s an 84 Toyota 4X4, runs fantastic, stops on a dime, and looks like hell. I’d drive it to the coast and back and wouldn’t worry about a thing. I think of it as a show piece…. A 25 year old truck that runs like new… hey, we should all have one… why it’s probably due to the expert care she is given. Gee, I wonder if that has anything to do with maintaining a maintenance schedule, and not “over-driving” the vehicle through conditions that would over work the designed capabilities from the manufacturer. I’ve owned this truck since it was new, I’ve serviced everything and anything it’s needed over the years. But back to the story….. I wanted to go home, but old Gerdie had other plans… seems the clutch master cylinder needed a bit of fluid. So I went back … unlocked the door and turned off the alarm… Grabbed a bottle of brake fluid and filled her back up for the trip home. In a bit of a hurry I spilled some of the fluid. I ran back in and grabbed a broom and some oil dry. It was about then that a car pulled up to the shop and a guy came into the office. Me, I was still outside, in fact I still had the keys hanging in the door. Why I even had forgotten to take off my old bib still full of tools.
Once I had filled the master cylinder back up I went back into the office.
“Anything I can do for you,” I asked.
“Yes, is there someone here that can help me with my car,” He answered.
“Sure, I can”
“But you’re the janitor… I need to talk to a mechanic”
Now, I realize that the lights are all off, the place is quiet and I’m standing there holding a half gallon jug of brake fluid, some oil dry and a broom….. I guess, you might assume that I’m the janitor… now wouldn’t you…
Well, he did…
“Well, sometimes I’m the janitor; then again, I’m also the complaint department, the head mechanic, and the bill payer around here. What ya need slick,” I said.
“My headlights aren’t working, the repair shop down the street said this was the place to get it fixed at. They said the connector is melted and there were no replacement parts,” he answered.
“Sure, no problem, can you drop it off tonight and I’ll get a look at it in the morning,” I asked.
“Well, ok, if you think you can fix it, I don’t want to leave it with just the janitor you know,” he hesitantly answered.
“Don’t worry, in the morning I’ll put my broom away and grab my test light.”
“Oh, OK, I’ll leave it with you… if that’s ok.”
I took down his information and the next day I made the repair without much of a problem. I didn’t call the customer, Mandy did and she didn’t have a problem with this guy, he was a typical nice guy customer. When he came to pick it up though, he asked Mandy if it would be alright if he thanked that nice janitor for taken his car in after hours last night. That’s about the time I came in from the shop, wearing my same bib of tools I had on the night before.
The new customer took one look at me, and said, “Oh, could you tell the mechanic that worked on my car that I would like to thank him personally?”
“Ya just did,” I said.
“Ah, sure, ah that’s nice, but do tell him that he did a great job, oh, and by the way, you’re doing a fine job of keeping this place cleaned up… wonderful work your doing,” he proudly said. He turns to Mandy, “I’m glad you folks have such a nice man on your staff, he’s doing a fine job.”
I didn’t have the heart to say anymore about the whole thing. I figure since this guy thinks I’m such a damned good janitor I might as well live up to it… I’ll just keep sweeping up around here.
Sooner or later I’ll learn a thing or two about fixing cars. But it is kind of nice being the janitor… heck; people don’t try to ask all those car questions to ya… I’m just the janitor you know. Makes me wonder how many “janitors” are really rocket scientists or something. It’s amazing to me how differently people think of you when you’re not the “guy”. Even though this incredibly thoughtful customer was only trying to thank me… the mechanic, I felt really honored to be thanked as the … janitor. Oh, and for all those rocket scientists turned janitors out there in the world… Don’t worry your secret is safe with me.
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High in the sky Jeep, the stooge trio
This trio of comic geniuses showed up at the shop one afternoon, the “Talker”, the “Looker”, and the “Nodder”. These three buddies have been working on a CJ for many, many years. Not one of them have any background in mechanics or electrical. But, as usual the “Talker” knew everything. The “Looker” never looked at a thing but performed his task with the greatest level of expertise. He had that 40 foot stare in a 20 foot room, always glancing at something that was not part of the conversation. The ceiling was a common theme, then there is the book rack, the disclaimers on the wall, the usual advertisements on the counter, pretty much anything but not a thing important. I think you could have asked this guy any question about the room, the people in the room, or for that matter probably his own name… I doubt if he could have answered a single question without saying “Huh” before coming up with some sort of ridiculous half wit response. Now the “Nodder”, he was in rare form. There was the quick nod, the slow responsive nod, and ever so popular nod your head so hard that your hair flips up and down, while at the same time maintaining his proper distance from the service counter. His only other function is to observe the “Looker” and “Talker” and confirm that they are doing their part in this trio of humorous delinquents. That only leaves the “Talker”; it’s the classic confrontation at the counter.
“Yes, I’m interesting in finding out if you or anyone here knows how to wire up a CJ from scratch?” he asked.
“Sure, I’ve done lots of them over the years,” I said, quite confidently.
“Well, it only needs a few things done, I just don’t have the time to finish it,” the “Talker” said with his nodding buddy in the back doing his best to stay up with the conversation. The “Looker” on the other hand was busy… you know… “Looking”… at what, I haven’t a clue. At this point I’m starting to wonder about the three of them. Two classic mistakes have already been made.
Number one, “I don’t have time to finish it”, Let me translate that for you… it really means; “I couldn’t figure it out even if the directions were tattooed to the inside of my eyelids”.
Number two, “It only needs a few things” … what that really means is… “You ain’t going to believe how screwed we got this”.
Thus, the quandary of problems that are about to unfold in front of me. The conversation went on with its usual head nods from the “Nodder” and stares into space by the “Looker”. With the never ending … Deeping… hole of unpronounceable automotive terms that the “Talker” was sinking into.
Trying to put an end to all this confusion, without falling into the hole myself, “Where’s the Jeep at?” I asked.
“Oh it’s at our garage,” the “Talker” added, “We’ll have to get it over to you. It doesn’t run right now.”
“Don’t you think you should get it running first,” I asked.
“It’s got a brand new crate motor in it,” the “Looker” jumped into the conversation with his two cents worth of information.
Confused now, I said, “A crate engine, you haven’t hooked up the wires to the engine yet? I guess that’s what you want me to do.”
“No, that’s done,” said the “Talker”, “We finished that up about a year ago. It just needs cleaned up a bit.” The “Nodder” did a hair flip about then… good job, that confirmed it… they’re all nuts.
The “Talker”, the “Nodder”, and the “Looker” all took their turns at the front counter. I use to think I’ve heard it all, and then these three stooges showed up and proved me wrong. Oh yes, this was a several year project, all of which was…. completely done backwards. From what I could piece together, the paint was finished first to a show room luster, while the body was being painted the frame was completely stripped down and powder coated. It took them over a year just to decide on which type of wheels and rims to put on it. Wiring seemed to have come in dead last … or that’s what I thought.
The next day the Jeep showed up on a trailer. Wow, what a superior paint job, all shiny and new. It was a mile high in the air with this huge lift kit installed. There were beautifully chromed engine parts everywhere, all gleaming in the sun. That was about it though. No exhaust system, no coolant, gobs and gobs of wiring strewn all through the engine compartment and undercarriage. Wires were run right through the headers and into the inside of the Jeep. There were no seats, doors, or even a windshield. All the extra wire was wrapped around the steering column or dangled into different cavities. There was no hole for the floor shifter and there was no place to mount the four wheel drive controls. Oh they had everything… in boxes, with assorted nuts and bolts, cables, and wiring. Even the headers will need reworked. The passenger side header was up against that beautifully powder coated frame and, you know, it was more than likely going to burn that pretty paint off. There were no spark plugs, no plug wires, and no throttle cable. It was without a doubt the largest expenditure into a total disaster I have ever seen in my years of business.
The “Talker” was busy explaining his master piece to me while I was busy eyeballing this checkbook gone wild, wanna-be beast of the 4wd world. The more I looked the worst it kept getting. I finally had to put an end to the talkers’ non-stop trip to purgatory.
“Why don’t you take this over and have the exhaust taken care of,” I interrupted him with a sudden jolt back to the planet, “Once you have that done, you could fill up the coolant system, look for leaks and maybe even put some plugs in it and see if it starts.”
I was surprised at his response… he said, “That would be great, and then I’ll get it back to you to finish the wiring.” I was actually hoping he wouldn’t remember that part. But, I’ve done crazier rewires in the past… it’s just another day at the office for me.
Weeks later the Jeep showed up again. This time it had a complete exhaust system installed, however they never moved the header away from the frame. Not only was it poorly put in, but the mufflers were right on top of the fuel pump lines and the electric fuel pump. All of which now will need moved to a better location. I didn’t think this job was going to ever be finished.
My years of experience in this business made me think to keep asking questions to these guys and see how far their wallet was going to stretch. Something told me there was more to this story than… “I don’t have the time”, and “It only needs a few things done”.
I had the phone number to the “Nodder”, I’ll call him.
“How, far do you want me to go?” I asked.
“I think he just wants a rough idea as to how much it will cost, but I think they want you to get it started too.” The “Nodder” told me.
“Ok then, I’ll rough it in, get it started and then write up an estimate,” I said.
“Sounds, good to me,” our friend the “Nodder” answered. I’m sure he was up to his usual head bobbing by now and was working his way to a full hair flip.
As I rigged up some jumper wires to the fuel pump, temporally of course, it was just enough to get voltage to the right spots. Then hot wire the coil and starter. I guess, it’s time to turn it over and see if it will start. A couple of cranks on the starter and huge plumes of fire belched out of the glistening chrome carburetor. Would it start? Not a chance, they had the distributor in 180 degrees off. Pull it out, turn it around and start over again. Oops, just noticed… they forgot the coolant. I filled the chromed out radiator with coolant… it leaked all over the engine. There were gaskets that weren’t sealing and hose clamps that weren’t tight. Another delay, another mess and, more expense just to see if this thing would start. Finally, the leaks were holding… sort of, at least enough to proceed.
Back to trying to solve the actual problem for the day… will the engine run. After priming the carburetor and a couple of turns of the starter motor the gleaming 4wd beast sprang to life… spewing oil everywhere! ! What now?!?!? There was no oil pressure switch in the engine block. Holy engines of chrome! ! Shut it off and put something in the hole. One more try … vroom! It starts and it runs, hey, and it even sounds pretty good. But the water leaks started showing up again. Seems they didn’t use any sealant on any of the water gaskets. This job is never going to end. It’s starting to sound like that old saying; “Stop counting the alligators when all you’re supposed to do is drain the swamp.” Enough alligator counting, I’m stopping! Here and now, I’ll try to make some sense out of the rest of this wiring disaster.
Now this next part of this story shouldn’t come as a big surprise. Not one of the three stooges ever talked to the other one as to what I was supposed to do. The only thing they agreed on was that the “Nodder” would take the phone calls and relay the info. I think poor old “Nodder” just nodded his way into being the escape goat. He doesn’t have a clue, he never did. Well, for that matter, neither do the other two dim wits.
A week or so later with the car resting in the shop, the three dunder heads showed up with a trailer. Now it was my turn to be wrong.
Number one, It was mutually understood between the trio, that they knew it all, and I knew nothing.
Number two, I was too expensive and was going to take too long to finish the job. Geez, how much time did they think I needed? I’m sure I could have done the job within a couple of years… maybe sooner. I’m so confused.
The last word on this one was that they were going to finish it themselves. My question was… when? I’ll be old and gray before these knuckleheads ever figure it out. But I’m a sucker for an old three stooges classic; I’ll sit back and watch this episode unfold. It might be a pretty good story whenever this Jeep comes out of the upper atmosphere and back to planet earth. Ynuk, Ynuk, Ynuk.
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The K-I-S-S Method
An older gentleman came to the shop with a wiper problem. His problem was simple, the wipers wouldn’t turn off. Well, that’s not unusual, this sort of thing happens a lot, it’s just the kind of repairs I like to do. Except for the fact that this guy was insistent that it had to be a serious malfunction. This made me think there was something seriously wrong with the car, he sounded so sure of himself. And if it was going to be a huge expense he wasn’t going to have it fixed, instead, he would return the car back to the lot that he just bought it from.
My job was clear, find the problem, find the solution, and make the repair. Not hard, no big deal, piece a cake…!
I drove the car into the shop with the wipers on full blast, wiping away on the now very dry windshield. Screech, screech, went the wiper blades. Just before I turned the key off I gave it a shot of windshield cleaner … damn… empty, the old guy has already went through the supply of fluid in the bottle. Oh well, shut the car off and check this thing out, I’ll take care of the fluid later.
Now the nice thing about the newer cars is the factory scanners have the individual systems on the screen so you can check them without tearing anything apart or grabbing a test light. You can read the system on the screen and determine the fault without even getting dirty, pretty cool if you ask me.
I grabbed my NGS scanner and plugged all the car info into it. Make, model, engine, etc… Found the menu for sub-systems, and what do ya know; there it is… wiper diagnostics… cool… I’ll run it through the tests.
Ah, let’s see … switch override, aha, and …main relay on… hmmm, good. Low speed, ah, yep, there’s the high speed control.. awesome … washer pump control… crap… gotta go fill the reservoir up with washer fluid so I can check it. Ok, that’s done, … let’s see, washer pump activation, press 1 on the scanner… yep… washer pump works great too. Ok, now what’s the problem…?
Reading the scanner is one thing, understanding what you’re looking at is another. Here I am with the scanner … watching the command signals on the scanner telling me that the wipers are ON, and not once looking to see what position the wiper switch was in.
All the guys in the shop are watching me standing behind the driver’s door holding onto the scanner, and dodging the windshield fluid spray as if it was incoming fire from an enemy sniper. As always there is plenty of sarcastic remarks from the crew, and few choice words from me when I would get caught with the spray.
Let’s see; I filled out an invoice, brought the car in the shop, got the scanner hooked up, played around with the scanner, and… never checked the basics. My bad…
I’m feeling a little dumb at this point, the boss isn’t suppose to do stupid things like “not checking the switch” that’s what the junior mechanic is suppose to get caught doing… not the old man himself. I was hoping nobody noticed the sly little movement of my left hand twisting the wiper switch to the, OFF position. A quick glance at the scanner’s information;……Now how about that… the scanner shows “commanded signal – OFF” and so are the wipers. It’s A miracle!
No don’t tell me… oh no, he didn’t, did he?… yep, he did. The old guy drove his car all the way to the shop with the wiper switch in the ON position… and, the dumb ass tech went straight for the scanner without looking at the car first. Ya’d think I would at least have looked at the position of the wiper switch before I did anything. It could have save a lot of time; it could have been a quick thank you from the customer, but, noooo…
Nope, just had to do it, just had to go get the scanner, after I just got done telling all the guys in the shop how we needed to simplify or diagnostic procedures and pay closer attention to the information that the customer was telling us. Which information was that??.....He just bought the car, should have been a dead giveaway. My bad…again.
I took the car around front and gave the keys back to the proud owner. He was busy telling another customer about myself, and how he knew I could fix “anything” on a car, and how I was always honest and up front with all my services. When I told him “no charge” he turned to the lady and said, “See, I told ya.”
Now with his new found information that seemingly incredible problem was nothing to worry about at all, and there was no need of going back to the car lot where he just bought it at.
Down the road went my happy, non-wiper turning off customer. I was actually happier for myself than for the customer... Why you ask? Because I didn’t have to explain to anyone in the shop … how the boss couldn’t figure out the wiper switch was left on without consulting a scanner. You know this new technology is great and these new scanners are wonderful….. But I have to remind myself from time to time….. <KISS >…….Keep-It-Simple-Stupid….
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I Didn’t Want That Jack Anyway
A city slicker has a flat on a lonely country road. After looking in his trunk he finds that the jack is missing. Unfamiliar with the surroundings he looked around to see what options he had. Way off in the distance he could see a single farm house. The choice was simple, start walking and borrow a jack. Down the dusty dirt road towards the farm house he went. As he walked his attitude was getting the best of him.
Thinking to himself, “I wonder if this farmer has a jack, wonder if he’ll let me borrow it, he might want me to pay for it, he might not even answer the door, he might come out the door and tell me to get lost. He might meet me at the door with a shotgun, what’s with this guy; all I wanted was a jack… I’m going to give him a piece of my mind, he’s not getting away with this, threatening me at the door, and unload his old shotgun … I’m going to give this jerk a piece of my mind.”
On and on he went, the closer to the door the madder he was getting. By the time he knocked on the door to the farm house, the poor farmer didn’t have a chance to say hello. The city slicker throws back a punch and shouts out “I didn’t want the jack anyway” and storms off down that same dusty dirt road with his original problem at hand.
From my point of view this is how some customers pre-judge the mechanic before they get to the service counter. Not to mention myself, I’m guilty of it too. My “jack” story starts shortly after the car is in the shop and I find out what’s wrong with it. I’ll call the customer and give him the news and they don’t believe me or they questions me like a private investigator.
“Did you do this, did you check that, how do you explain the failure, are you sure…?” The customer would go on to say, “Well, I’ll have to think about that, I’ll call you back later and let you know what I want to do.”
After so many years of working with the general public I have gained a “sixth-sense” about these things, call it the “jack” theory. I don’t want to pre-judge the reaction of the customer anymore than I want to pre-judge a repair based on what happened in the past. Because now I’m judging the results before it actually happens. Sometimes your right on the money, other times there is something out of the ordinary that can’t be explained until you reach the very end of the diagnoses.
I was asked once on a radio show about this same subject. The host of the show answered me this way; “I’m so afraid that the mechanic is going to rip me off that I’m always on guard when I’m at the repair shop.”
That can be so true, except, look at it from the other side of the counter; I can have the same knee jerk reaction to a customer. I spend my entire day behind the counter, however that customer who wants to yell, scream, threaten, etc… his time at the counter is now and never more. This is where the shop puts itself on guard and starts to think… jacks… do I need this jack or not.
When one of these situations come along you can bet I’m not the happiest camper in the shop. I’m more like a growling bear ready to jump on the first dork that asks the next stupid question.
I have to remember to keep a professional approach while I’m talking to the customer. Be completely up front with all the labor charges and parts costs. Save the personal attitude when no one is around or the drive home.
As these situations escalate, the blood pressure rises. Jack or no jack I’m still going to pump the blood pressure higher. Is it the repair, a clash of personalities, or is it the cost of the repair? A lot of times it’s the personalities and egos that get in the way of the repair. For some unknown reason a lot of people mistrust the industry to the point that they have to question everything you do. Or, they have had their car “per-checked” by “Uncle Fred” so by the time they get to your shop they have already determined the exact problem before you even have put their name on the work order.
More times than not, it’s the old wallet talking, not the car, not the type of repair, and certainly not me. My diagnostics, and repair methods haven’t changed from the previous job to this one, just because it’s not going the way the customer would like it to go and the cost of the parts and labor is getting higher and higher doesn’t make it right to raise your voice and be so demanding. I know they want their car back as cheaply as possible but in some cases the condition of the car doesn’t quite allow that.
Usually a few hours or sometimes days later, I have to laugh at the whole thing, you have to. At this point all you want to do is move onto the next project. I make living fixing cars, not arguing with a frustrated person that doesn’t have the money for the repair or lacks the common sense to view the situation in a civil manner. And the last thing I need to do is start looking for another jack down a dusty country road.
Sometimes I’m stuck with the car at the shop, unrepaired and the customer doesn’t want it back. Then, I have to decide to have it junked, repaired or sold as is.
So if you are looking for a cheap, trashed out car, usually with high miles on it, more than likely something broken, missing, or in need of even more repair than you can imagine, then go to your local repair shop…. They probably have the car for you. Do me a favor though, check for a jack first.
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Blowin’ in the wind
Another headlight problem to deal with, this time it’s on an old 280z.
Both headlights took their turn going on and off. I’ve seen this problem hundreds of times. My first test is to pull the trim from around the steering wheel and pop off this little plastic guard on the back of the headlight switch. If the headlight switch is causing the problem, all you have to do is take your finger and gently push on the terminals of the headlight switch that you exposed when the plastic guard was removed. In this case, that’s exactly the problem. No further diagnostics needed. Chalk that one up to experience.
After filling out the invoice I gave the customer the news. He was quite startled that I could find the problem so fast.
“I had it at the last shop for hours,” he said, “Until they gave up and sent me here.”
“It’s not a big deal I’ve seen it before,” I said.
The part was ordered and I had it installed in a flash. Simple repair, made simple with lots and lots of experience mind you. After the install, I checked the headlights. All was well, nothing wrong that I could see. I pulled the car around front and filled out the rest of the paper work.
A big thank you and a hand shake was all that was needed at that point. I handed him his keys and he drove off down the street. I figured I just made a new customer… not bad, I look like a genius. You know the one, the one that I think I am… well, there ya go again… did I forget about the proverbial teeter tooter of auto repair? The one with genius on one end and idiot on the other… and the job for the day is to walk back and forth and try to keep it in balance. And, every time you think your standing on the genius end and you think there is no way you’ll ever make it the other side… look out… it’s going to slide right to stupid… and idiot isn’t far away.
Several weeks later the car was back, again with the blinking headlights. I went thru the whole routine again… it is absolutely without a doubt, hands down, totally for sure… working just like it should. And I mean perfect. It never blinked it never even thought of blinking. Now I’m getting concerned. This isn’t right. Whose playing games here…? Is there one of those hidden cameras around here? Ok, who put this guy up to it? I’ve got a lot of practical joker friends that would love to pull some stunt like this… but I ain’t laughing fellas!
Since nobody jumped out from behind a bush or a tool box I guess I better consider that this guy is dead serious about his “blinking” headlights. Time to go talk to the owner.
“How often does it do this,” I asked.
“All the time, especially at night,” the 280z owner explained.
(I deserved that answer, what did I expect… At night, well of course it would be at night. I’m sliding even closer to idiot right now… I hope there’s a safety harness attached to the see saw.)
“Well, I’m having a problem duplicating the blinking at this point,” I said with a bit of confusion in my voice.
“Oh, I guarantee it’s going to do it,” he said, “Just wait, it will.”
I went back out to the shop and pondered over this odd situation. Now I pride myself on being able to figure this stuff out, I hate thinking I’m going to have to end up like the last shop and give up on it. Oh come on, I seen the headlights blink before, that was cut and dry, this I don’t know.
About then one of the tow drivers that brings cars to me came in the shop. Not for a car, just to say Hi. I explained to him what I was up against and I told him I’m running out of ideas on how to solve this one. Not that I expected any help but I could use a shoulder to cry on right about now. He had this quirky smirk on his face… as if he knew something that I didn’t. Something told me he was up to something, aha; he’s the guy with the hidden camera. Ok, ok, I’ll play along.
“Hop behind the wheel and turn the lights on,” my tow truck driving buddy chuckled.
“Ok,” I said, perplexed by his sudden show of diagnostic abilities.
Once I had the headlights on he walked to the front of the car and stood in front of one of the headlights.
“Are ya ready for this,” he said, still laughing his butt off.
“Go for it there Einstein,” I said … not knowing what he was about to do. I couldn’t think of a thing I missed, and how in the world was he so sure of it.
As he stood there looking at me sitting behind the wheel, his legs were lit up with the headlight beam, he reached down and grabbed the bra that was on the front of the car. As he flapped the bra up and down … the headlight… blinked. What the??? I jumped out of the car leaving the headlights on.
“What are you doing, man o’ man, I’ve wanting to see that all afternoon,” totally astonished by now, “What the hell are you doing.”
The bra is fitted into the recess in front of the headlight, and the attaching “Velcro” strips were gone. So, when the car was up to speed the bra would flap in the wind and make it appear as if the headlight was blinking. Now on the other hand, the other side was tight and was holding the bra down just the way it should.
I ran to get the customer, had him sit in the driver’s seat. My still laughing tow truck buddy and I went through our little experiment. The most surprising thing was the owner agreed that was what was happening and it only did it on that one side… which after thinking about it was different than what it was doing with the original switch installed.
At least he understood the problem now and everything was back to normal… except… how did the tow driver know…?
“I was on a call last night and I saw this same car on the highway pass me,” he said, still laughing, “I knew it was at your shop a while back. You couldn’t miss it, what got my attention was the blinking headlight as he came up along side of me, I thought it was some weird emergency vehicle, but as it passed by my truck I could see what was going on. I was laughing the whole time, in fact, that’s why I came by today. I was stopping by to raze ya about it, seems like I came at the right time.”
Well, well, well, I owe him one. Maybe a couple, I’m sure he still laughs about this one even after all these years. That proverbial teeter totter is sure looking heavy on that one side. My bad, I’ll work on correcting that problem, maybe with a little help from a gust of wind and a friendly tow driver.
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ADRIAN
Taking a line from the Rocky movies. “Adrian, Adrian!” If you can picture Rocky Balboa shouting out the name of his girlfriend you have a good idea what I experienced one day at the shop.
It all started with a phone call several weeks ago. A referred customer wanted some information about some repairs he wanted done to his late 90’s F150.
Mandy (my daughter and office managaer) was in the office and as always handled all of his questions with the highest level of expertise. Several weeks later the truck showed up at the shop. The keys were in the overnight slot along with a hand scribbled note. The name and contact number with a brief description of the problem were all there. Although, most of it was misspelled but the main information was legible.
There was quite a bit on the list. It stretched from the front of the truck to the rear. First thing to do was get it up on the lift. Number one on the list was the front end. All four ball joints needed changed and the idler arm was trashed. (Sounds about right for a truck with 150k miles on it and was run pretty hard.)
Now, to the other end of the truck. The rearend was the next issue. You couldn’t help but notice the leaking fluid out of the front of the assembly. I gave the driveshaft a jiggle… up and down and round and round….this rearend is shot. There so much play in the gears you could probably stick another rearend between the gaps of the gears. I grabbed the tire and gave it a turn. The growl from the center of the reared was so loud…. I don’t know how anyone could have driven it to the shop. This thing is totally shot.
Next item on the list, diagnose the cruise control. Anybody that has one of these should… if you haven’t ---YOU better…. Get the recall on the cruise control switch that is mounted on the master cylinder. Your dealer can tell you if your vehicle needs to have the recall done or not.
Obviously this owner never pays attention to those notices that the manufacture sends out. The only thing wrong with the cruise was the switch. The other and finally the last thing was the right side wiper didn’t work… at least that was what was written down on the invoice which was simply copied from the owners own notes. Oh, it worked but do ya think maybe, just maybe…. It might work better if you put the wiper blade on correctly. I’m not sure but I think it’s not supposed to be cork screwed twisted and pointing towards the sky. Another no brainer repair… OK, one more thing to write down on the invoice; replace wiper blades... Finally, all done.
Now that the “diagnostic” part of the repair is completed I’ll write up the damages and have Mandy call the customer while I get to the next job in the shop. I’ll wait till she gets off the phone, and then order what parts are needed. You know so far this is just like any other repair. I’ll admit a rather large list of repairs, but nothing out of the ordinary. What could go wrong now…?
But as usual there is always the “question and answer” part of the diagnostics. Mandy came out to the shop and asked the usual questions that a customer will usually ask; “Why does it cost so much, why can’t you just stop it from leaking instead replacing the entire rearend, why are the parts so expensive, can’t you do it cheaper…” you know the rest….
I explained everything to Mandy and she repeated it back to the customer. Just another day at the shop, just another repair. Still, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Now I never expected the owner to go for the rearend or for that matter the front end, mainly because of the cost. I don’t like to make snap judgments on cars or customers, but it seemed very highly likely that this guy didn’t have the cash flow to maintain his truck in decent shape. Otherwise, things would have been fixed long before they got into the shape they are in now.
I expected that, so it wasn’t any surprise that the only repairs I was going to make were the two cheaper repairs. (Cruise and wipers)
The work was completed and the truck was set aside to wait for the customer to pick it up the next day. Still, this is nothing new… just another repair.
The next day the customer came and picked up the car. It’s Rocky, oh yea, now this guy wanted to strut his manly ego at the front counter. Me, I was doing what I normally do every day… fix the cars in the shop. Busy as could be in the back of the shop, Mandy came out to ask me a few questions.
A lot of times she may have a question on a part or description of the labor charges. While I’m elbow deep into a job she’ll take down the information and head back to the front office. Simple standard procedure for our little shop.
This guy wasn’t buying her answers. He wanted to “talk” with the mechanic that worked on the job. Mandy told him that I was busy and that if he could wait a few minutes she would see if she could pull me away from the job I was on. But by this time he had already stormed out the front door.
She didn’t even have a chance to finish her sentence….. The one that ended with…. “As soon as he gets a break he’ll make it to the front office to talk to you.” The next thing I know, that same truck is back in front of the service bays blocking as many doors as he could.
Then this Italian stallion of the motor world jumps out of his truck stands by the front fender with his arms stretched out and starts yelling at the top of his lungs and gives his best “Adrian” Rocky Balboa impression. “So, what is it? Ya don’t want to talk to me?!?!? I ain’t paying for the work unless I talk somebody that knows what they are doing!!!”
The first thing that crosses my mind is… “WHO’S THIS JACKASS!” Then I recognize the truck…got it…it’s the owner of the vehicle.
Upset about something but of course, I don’t know what.
“If you’re the fella waiting for me that was in the front office, I’m cleaning up now and I’ll be there in a minute…as you can tell I’m a little busy at the moment,” I said, a little louder than normal.
Not that I’m pissed, I’m more confused than anything else. “Rocky” leaves his truck where it is and walks to the front office door; I on the other hand, take off my welding gear, turn off the welder and clean up enough to go to the front office. (I was busy welding a door back together for another customer) Once up there the belligerent dip went right back into his ranting.
“I’m putting a notice up in my office and tell everybody I know how much of an asshole this place is,” he shouted back at me.
“So what’s your problem buddy,” I said, already getting steamed by this butt head’s constant badgering.
“I want to talk to the guy who worked on the car, not the gal in the front office. She is not a mechanic so obviously she doesn’t know what she is talking about. I’m a damn good mechanic myself and I don’t want to talk to some girl,” he blurts out
. “Oh really,” I said, “What shop do you work at?” Curious as to why a “damn” good mechanic brought his car to another repair shop.
“I’m an A/P mechanic…. That’s all you need to know,” he stammers out.
Nothing against aircraft mechanics… their great at what they do. But, let’s face it… a jet engine isn’t a car.
Well, this Balboa stand in was as much a jerk as I have ever seen. I explained why there is a pretty gal in the front office and what her job duties were. Also, how she has answered all of his questions over the phone. If she had a problem she was perfectly capable of relaying information.
“You know, she’s a lot pretty than me,” I said, “So why don’t you let her answer your questions and if at any time she needs more answers I’ll be glad to assist.”
This jerk still had his Rocky warm up suit on. It wasn’t a question of man to man information now. His whole attitude was that he was the champ and everyone else is a chump. Sorry, pal, it doesn’t work that way.
After I explained the whole thing again to him I asked Mandy if what I said was similar to what she had told him earlier. The answer was “YES”… go figure. As he walked out the door I reminded him that his disrespect to the guys in the shop was unacceptable and blocking the garage doors slows down our ability to offer service to other customers.
“Your problem is I’m the customer here….and you should be showing respect to me before I have to show one ounce of respect to you or anybody here,” shouting as loud as he could.
“You know, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, I try to keep cost down by having someone in the front office to handle these things. But apparently you’re from the old school of auto repair where a guy talks to a guy about car stuff… sorry, I guess I didn’t think about that,” I said as humbly as I could… which by the way I didn’t mean any of it. It was mainly for his feeble ego than for anything else.
He accepted my apology and then wanted to know if he bought a used rearend how much I would charge to install it. I wanted to say….not near enough…in fact…never in your life would I do another job for the likes of you. But I didn’t.
However, little does he know, his little sign in his office might be his way of showing his macho ego. But I hate tell him this, his story is in print and it’s all over the country….so if you are going to put a sign in your office area to let everyone you know about “the” asshole, you should take notice of one thing. Make sure “the” asshole you’re dealing with isn’t a writer of such stories. Because, I think my little sign is bigger than your little sign…. there, Mr. Balboa…..!
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Last stop before the asylum
Talk about a weird day; I would have to say this was one of weirdest days of them all.
On a foggy afternoon, no breeze in sight, and slight chill in the air, an old man came to the shop. He didn’t come through the front door like most everyone would, no, he pulled his car right into the center bay of the shop. But, it gets stranger…. He didn’t get out of the car. He didn’t even roll down the window. He just sat there with both hands on the wheel, the engine still running, and staring out the windshield like a zombie from an old horror flick. It looked like he was calmly sitting at an intersection, waiting for the light to change. He had no expression, he never blinked; he just sat there….with this cold stone stare. I didn’t want to walk in front of the car in fear he may take me as the green light. So I walked around the back of the car keeping one eye on this strange guy and crept up to the drivers’ window. I tapped on the glass….no response from inside. I tried the door handle… it opened.
“Afternoon sir,” I said in a cheerful manner, trying to keep my curiosity at bay “Is there anything I can do for you today?”
The old man, ever so slowly, turned his head towards me while maintaining a straight forward posture and both hands still on the wheel, never really looking up, he answered. “Why yes young man, my turn signals are acting up and my window won’t roll down.” (The man’s voice reminded me of an old horror movie vampire.)
Very creepy to say the least. He even looked like a 50’s horror movie villain, you know, sunken in cheeks, large bushy eye brows, slow methodical speech, and that expressionless cold stare. (Where’s his cape, does he keep the bats in the trunk, the coffin, where’s the coffin?)
“No problem sir,” I answered. “Just head up front and they can write you an invoice for the repair and then I can get started.”
“I’d rather stay here, (slowly turning his head towards me, lifting his eyebrows, and raising his eyes up towards me so his glare was straight into my eyes) right here in the drivers’ seat,” he said in that creepy horror flick manner
(Insert spooky movie music here)
Ok, where’s the holy water…..where’s my garlic….who’s got the silver bullets…….where’s the wooden stakes …….a little help here guys…..a guys….where are you.???
Why is it, when you look around the shop for help…..everybody disappears? Oh they’ll show up, oh sure they will…after they let me be the first victim……not funny guys! ! !
I could ask him again to step out of the car or I could tell him about our policy on customers in the shop. I guess at this point I probably looked like one of those B movie extras that were too scared to say their lines. If I had any….. I figured I better tell him he can’t stay in the car while I was working on it and see where that led.
There he sat, still staring straight ahead out the windshield, not blinking, and not even moving a muscle.
“Sir, because of insurance reason you can’t stay in the shop. You will have to wait outside or in the customer waiting area,” I said, trying to be as professional as possible. (They can smell fear you know)
Looking straight forward, not at me; “You do whatever you feel is necessary son,” then he turned his head and looked right through me, “I’ll be sitting right here,” all of which he said in that same eerie voice. He turned back towards the windshield without another word. Then, he just sat there, as still as a tombstone.
Now I’m not scared…I’m getting riled up. I don’t know what graveyard this movie mogul came from but…this is my shop. I have to take the responsibility here. If he isn’t going to get out of the car I really can’t do too much. Well, maybe I can do some quick diagnostics without having him get out of the car. This way, I won’t feel like such a jerk if I have to get a little serious with this “Vampirish” guy
“Sir, why don’t you try those turn signals for me,” I said. He did, and they seemed to be working just fine.
“Could you try rolling down the window for me,” I asked. It worked fine as well. Without a problem that I was aware of I thought the next best thing was to get him out of the car and take a look under the dash.
“Sir, can you step out of the car so I can look under the dash,” I asked.
“No,” was his response.
“Well sir, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I answered, “Or, you can wait outside the shop while I take a look at the car.”
“No,” again was his answer.
“Ok, then, could you do one more thing for me, could you put it in neutral and leave your foot off of the brake,” I calmly asked him.
He did just that, then he put his hands back on the wheel but never changed his dead pan expression. I motioned to one of the guys in the shop to come over. We both grabbed the front of the car and pushed the car outside with the old man still in it. As we pushed him out you could see the old fella through the windshield, never changing his straight ahead stare…..he just sat there.
I walked up to the drivers’ door, the window was still down, “Sir, when you are ready to get out of the car I’ll be more than happy to help you. But until then you will have to remain out here. If there is a medical reason why you can’t get out of the car I’ll make arrangements to assist you into a different chair or something that will be more comfortable for you,” I said with a stern voice.
The old man did that same slow head turn without taking his hands off of the steering wheel again. He stared right into my eyes….raised those bushy eyebrows, and with that same slow deliberate baritone voice
“It’s not medical, it’s not a problem, I like my car the way it is…(and with his eyes extending out as if to make them larger)……with me in it.”
(There’s that spooky music again)
I walked back to shop to finish the other work that was there. On and off throughout the afternoon you could look outside and there was that creepy old guy sitting in his car. Staring right into the shop through the windshield of his car…. never moving, never blinking, still with both hands on the wheel. (There should have been some eerie fog flowing around his car….now that would have been creepy)
At closing time, the old guy was still there. As soon as I starting to pull the doors down… he drove off. As the door came to its usual “thump” at the bottom…the shop radio went dead. You could hear a pin drop in the shop; the only noticeable noise was the old man’s car leaving the parking lot. When the car noise was all but gone…the radio started back up. (No Kidding) It was like some page out of a horror movie…..Ok, Ok, it had to be just one of those moments when the station was changing a disc or something……but why right then.
So, the next time you are at a traffic light and you see this old guy with big bushy eyebrows…staring through the windshield.
Don’t make eye contact, don’t look back……….drive, drive far away!
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3 GALLONS OF TROUBLE
One of my regular customers brought his son into the shop the other day. It was right at opening time and good old dad made it a point to tell his son, “Gonzo, probably hasn’t had his coffee yet so go easy on the old guy.”
He was right about the coffee, but that still didn’t prepare me for the story I was about to hear.
The story started sometime earlier… apparently after I changed the fuel pump two years ago; his gas mileage had dropped considerably. To the point that he was concerned and very upset that there was obviously something that I had done wrong to cause it.
He insisted that I was to blame because he always tracked his mileage by way of his trip odometer. Before the new fuel pump he would get close to 400 miles per tank. His accuracy was noted on his little log book and showed how much gas he would refill his tank with. It was always around 23 gallons and never a drop more than 23 gallons. But now his tank was holding 26 gallons. His question, “So, where is the other 3 gallons going?” I had to laugh, I’ve changed a lot of fuel pumps but I never have had anyone come in and tell me that it holds more fuel than before.
My guess was that his original gas tank sending unit was probably inaccurate and that was where his discrepancy was at.
“I’m pretty sure your gas tank hasn’t increased in volume since a fuel pump has been changed. I would imagine you’re probably mistaken as to how much your tank actually holds,” I told him as I reached for my coffee.
Nope, he wasn’t buying that answer. He knew how much his gas tank has always held and he knew I was the cause of his 3 missing gallons… what he wanted was for me to find out why his gas mileage has decreased so much.
I tried to explain it to him, but he was very… very sure he was correct and I wasn’t listening to what he was saying and he was getting quite loud and belligerent over the whole matter. Poor old dad just sat there with a smirk on his face. I kinda figured dad had already had enough of his boy’s attitude and figured old Gonzo was going to straighten him out. (This is going to take a lot more coffee…)
The aggravated son then began to tell me how good a mechanic he was, because he had rebuilt a few motors in the past so… he knew what he was doing under a hood. (Note: putting parts together is not a mechanic… that’s solving puzzles… not a mechanic.)
Then he added to his story with the usual… “I went to one of those parts stores that will read codes for you… they said the reason for the check engine light was because of a bad gas cap.”
He was grasping at possible reasons why his gas mileage had dropped so much. What gets me is how something as important as the involvement of the service light isn’t brought up into the conversation until after you have told me how good a tech you are and that you have already made the incompetent decision that I was to blame. (I’m going to need more coffee.)
So at this point, we have a service light on, we have a supposed loss of fuel economy (sort of), and I’m sure there is more… there is always more… I had to ask, “Anything else?”
On occasions the ABS light comes on… he had that checked too. This time he consulted the ever faithful internet. He tells me in a loud forceful voice… as if I couldn’t hear anything he was saying, “That always means it’s time to rebuild the ABS controller.”
Oh yea, I do that every day… I take the controllers apart and remove the epoxy sealer over the circuit boards and remove the effected components on the board and then reseal the whole thing back together. All this before a full cup of coffee??? It’s really too early for this kind of technical information….
After dad and son dropped the truck off, I went straight to the glove box. I checked the owner’s manual as to how much capacity the fuel tank held. It had it in big bold letters… 26 gallon capacity… not 23 as he was so sure of.
While I had it in the shop I checked the tune up parts and the filters… all looked great. The next thing was to tackle the check engine light. Yes there was a code, well a code that might lower gas mileage… sort of… but not by 3 gallons. It was the evap solenoid valve code… p0449… after doing the test on the valve it turned out the valve wasn’t responding to the PCM commands. A new evap solenoid valve solved the problem. As far as the ABS… nothing, not a thing, no codes, no history codes, and the system was working normally. A drive test showed no problems and I gave him the benefit of doubt that he may have an intermittent ABS controller problem… however when I gave him the option of leaving it alone or changing it… he left it alone.
After all the phone calls were made and arrived to pick up his truck there was never any mention of the so called missing 3 gallons or the fact that it was merely the original fuel sender that was reading improperly all this time. Or the fact that the loose gas cap had nothing to do with the service light this time around.
I guess when you’re wrong you don’t have to admit it…that is when you’re the customer… but you can be darn sure if the mechanic is wrong… everyone will know about it, and somebody is going to have to apologies.
Oh, and I apologies for being the mechanic in this story, and I guess I should apologies for one more thing…..
Writing in BIG letters on his invoice… YOUR TANK HOLDS 26 GALLONS! !
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This next story is dedicated to my two lovely daughters. Amanda Sue and Katrina Lee ... They reminded me about this lady sometime ago and told me I should write this story for them... enjoy...
The Bird Lady
This lady was weird. Hmm, not a great way to start a story now is it.
But, it’s true. This lady was a weird as it gets. The name “bird lady” was actually from my daughters. They nicknamed this gal after a couple of trips to the shop to see what old dad was up too.
On many occasions that the girls would come to visit good old dad during working hours, this car would be at the shop. There were always bird cages in the back seat, feathers everywhere, and bird droppings all over the place. Turns out, that the lady owned an exotic pet store somewhere in town. She never carried a purse it was always a “Wal-Mart” plastic shopping bag. She dressed like a bag lady, most of the time in a funky 80’s style coat with a frumpy crochet hat with kaleidoscope colors. To talk to this lady made you wonder if she wasn’t coo-coo herself, always off in her own little world, all by her lonesome.
She would come in on a regular basis to have general maintenance done. Oil change one day; check the tire pressure on another trip, so on and so on. One particular time in the shop she was there to have a leaking valve cover gasket replaced. She waited up front in the lobby while we finished the job in the shop. Most of the time she was too nervous to just sit and wait for the work to be done. She would wander around the lobby looking at things or pop in and out of the door checking on her car... this time she just sat there.
As I walked through the front office for something I noticed her sitting there in the lobby reading a book while crunching down on pieces of raw spaghetti noodles. You could hear the crunch from a block away. Crunch, crunch, crunch, went the noodles, as if it was an automatic reflex with her. She would start off with a full length piece and then would quickly munch it down to nothing. Over and over again she would do this.
I just shook my head and went back to the business at hand. Soon we had the work completed and I went up front to finish out the invoice.
You know, it’s impolite to ask people what they are doing munching on noodles like that. I’m no doctor or chef… but this can’t be good for you.
I just had to ask, “What’s with the noodles, you seem to like them.”
“Oh, I’m on a diet,” she said, “It keeps my mind off of eating and I feel full all the time then. Works great, I haven’t put on a pound since I started this.”
Had to ask, “So when did you start this diet?”
“Today.” She answered.
Ok then, ....I’ll just finish this invoice and send this lady back to her little nest. I really don’t want to ask her anymore questions. Oh, I’ve got plenty, but, I ain’t asking.
“Would you like to try it?” She asked me.
“No,… no, that’s ok,” I told her, “I’m fine, wife and I are having spaghetti tonight. Thanks for asking though.”
I told this story to my wife when I got home. She couldn’t place the lady’s face until I mentioned that this is the lady the girls called the bird lady.
I think the nickname fits. If you could have seen this spaghetti eating champ at work… you would have thought she had gone to the birds too.
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There’s a new wrench in town
A Volkswagen Beetle was left in the parking lot one cold morning. It was one of my regular customers 01’ Beetle. All I knew of the problem was that it wouldn’t start.
“Let’s check a few things first,” I said. I pulled out one of the glow plugs to check it for wear and tear and if it was getting the necessary voltage to warm it up. All was well; in fact they looked fairly new. I had a meter handy so I checked to see if the resistance was correct…right on the money. I cracked open a fuel line to one of the injectors … no fuel…. No fuel??? Hey, wait a minute… isn’t that kinda necessary?? The tank was full, but no fuel pressure at the lines. One of the things to worry about with a diesel is … air in the fuel lines…. Anytime these engines get any air in the fuel lines… oops… they will be hard to start or not start at all. Ask anyone with a diesel that has ran out of fuel…ask them how long it took to get it started again.
Well, before I start tearing into other possibilities, this would be a good time to shoot a little starting fluid down its throat and see if I can get a burp or two out of the little engine. I want to be sure there are no “mechanical” issues with the engine.
A couple of quick shots of ether and crank of the key…. Shazaam…!! Started right up…. Hold on hold on…. fuel is spurting everywhere.. Shut it off... Shut it OFF now!! Looking under the fuel distributor you could see that the fuel was actually coming out of the two halves of the distributor… apparently the gasket or housing to the distributor has developed a major leak. My guess would be probably from the cold. Air was getting into the fuel lines, but once the engine spun fast enough to overcome the air rushing in from the bad distributor it then was able to start.
I called the customer and gave him the bad news, the biggest problem was cost; a fuel distributor isn’t a cheap part by any means. Luckily for the owner he was still covered under the factory 100k mile warranty, but barely. It was about 500 miles shy of going over the mileage. The obvious next step would be to have the car towed to the dealership. All the work could be completed under the warranty and save the customer from a huge repair bill. Nothing like a warranty when it actually pays off on an expensive part… I’m actually more relieved myself. It’s not the easiest job by any means, oh I’ll do it… but given a choice between changing a fuel distributor or taking a swift kick …. I’ll take the swift kick.
At this point I’m through; I did my part, diagnosed the problem and sent it on to the proper repair facility to have it done. What more should I do? Then the phone rang, it’s the owner of the car.
He was quite calm on the phone.. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me.
In a very calm and collective voice the owner said, “The tech at the dealer says it needs new glow plugs, new glow plug relay, and a new glow plug harness.”
Once the initial shock wore off, I began to laugh. “You’re kidding me,” I answered laughing the whole time.
“No, that’s what the man said,” he said, with a little smirk in his voice.
I think he knew, but didn’t want to say anything to me about what he thought was going on… oh, I knew, I knew quite well what was going on.
He asked, “Do you want to call them?”
“No, let’s see if they want to call me. I already know what’s wrong with the car. Let’s try this; ask them if they will guarantee the repair and make it right if that doesn’t fix the problem,” I told him.
“Ok,” said my now laughing owner, “This ought to be a fun adventure. I’ll play along with ya.”
The phone rings again… it’s the tech from the dealer. I felt like it was one of those old western movies. You know the ones, where the bad guy strolls into the bar and says to the other cowboy, “This here town ain’t big enough for the both us.” Oh yea, my young, wet behind the ears dealer tech had something to prove. You could tell he had been shining his wrenches for just an occasion to show up an independent shop. I could hear that “western” movie music in the background. I was waiting for the “call out” any minute now. It’s the old “I’m the dealer tech and nobody knows more than me.” You know, I’m getting older, I may not be as fast as I use to be… but it’s still going to take more wrench than this spark plug has to get the best of this old gear head. Talk about a cocky, fresh out of diapers, full of himself dipstick. If this guy would just listen to what he was saying, he could have figured out who the real cracked engine blockhead was. I’ll bet he goes to work; dons his dealership uniform and transforms himself into tat ta tat da…. SUPER MECHANIC!! Look in the shop, springing from tool box to tool box, no, could it be… why yes it’s SUPER MECHANIC..! I’m honored to be in the presence of such a marvel of the auto world. Could I have finally met my match, am I to be put down at high noon like the Wild West gun slingers of old? Hold on there, partner, I still have my secret decoder ring and my x-ray glasses to ward off such attempts of super human abilities. I’ll call you out… High Noon, wrenches ready… let’s do this cowboy.
He proceeded to tell me that he had a code for an intermittent glow plug signal and that they had records showing that the glow plugs were changed at the dealership 2 years ago. Naturally, that was what was wrong with it. He didn’t need another shop to tell him that, because he was perfectly capable of handling the repair and that the only reason he was making this call is because it was company policy to verify complaints if the customer didn’t agree with their diagnosis. Holy Wrenches Hombres, at least we have that going for us…
You know, there are times I’d just like to give these snot nose, green horn, socket jockeys a quick thwack on the noggin. But, this kid was lucky, I wasn’t in the mood to belch out my usual “you’re too young kid, you’re going to need a little more grease in the right places before ya go messin’ with this old wrench” speech. Instead, I was going to give him another chance to rethink his diagnosis.
“How did you arrive at that conclusion,” I asked.
“I had a code for it, and these cars have a history of problems with the glow plugs,” he very proudly stated.
“Did you check the glow plug themselves?” I very calmly asked.
“Well, they were changed 2 years ago,” he answered.
First mistake; more to follow.
“Let me get this straight, you found a code, you didn’t check it, and now you want to change the part… is that it?” I said in a stern manner.
“I don’t need to check it, I already know,” he quickly bantered back.
“I hate tell you this, but that code is there because of me. I pulled the glow plug out and hand checked it. I even checked the resistance value on the glow plug and the incoming voltage. I didn’t see a thing wrong with the glow plug circuit. Did you by chance notice the raw fuel under the fuel distributor?” I asked in a even more stern voice.
“Yea, I saw the fuel. I washed it off.” he answered in a confident manner, “It started to stink up the shop and blow the fumes all over the shop. The car was directly under the shop heater and the other techs were complaining. Not like it had anything to do with the repair anyway. You guys’ are just a little sloppy, you should clean up things better next time.”
“That fuel you seen is from the fuel distributor housing,” I told him.
“Oh, you know, all these customers are all alike; they’re just trying to get stuff done for nothing while it’s still under the warranty. So, it’s no big deal,” he answered.
Oh please, don’t tell me this kid had the nerve to say that. It reminds me of all those comments that small children say to strangers in a crowded room. Usually out of context and never under the right circumstances and, most often, with their parents standing right there totally embarrassed by the whole thing.
Another mistake, keep going kid… it’s just keeps getting better.
“I think you should put this car back outside and check it in the morning after it gets good and cold. It’s going to leak again, that I’m sure of.” I told the new wrench.
“I’m going to have to ask my service writer about that, because I’m very sure of the repair work that I have already diagnosed. So, like I said... This is just a courtesy call... not a call to tell me how to fix it.” He said in a very demanding tone.
“Ok fella, have it your way. I’m just trying to help you out. I didn’t spill a drop of fuel. That fuel you see came from the distributor not from anything else.” I said, trying to get my point across.
“I understand, but you know, here at the dealership we have the most sophisticated equipment and can diagnose these problems better and quicker than you can.” He answered.
The mistakes keep adding up. About now I’m shining my wrenches for a showdown… somebody is going to get it, and it ain’t me.
I think if I were him, I would be concerned that the glow plugs that were installed 2 years ago have failed again, seems pretty odd to me that the glow plugs wore out that quickly. But this young wrench head is strictly going by the code and not diagnosing the problem.
I told him, “Wouldn’t it be proper procedure to clear the code and then recheck. Chances are it was a false code do to the fact I had disconnected it earlier.”
He didn’t seem to be interested in my comments. As I expected, the dealership called the owner and told him that they were going to do “further” testing.
The next day the owner called me back again with even more astonishing news. “The dealer tech said that the raw fuel was from the glow plug that you took out,” the owner said laughingly. I figured the tech was trying to cover his tracks.
A week later the little 01 Volkswagen had a new fuel distributor and a happy owner. All under warranty, and it didn’t need those new glow plugs replaced… imagine that.
This tech at the dealership was just a young wrench with a chip on his shoulder. Trying to out wrench an old hand like myself was not a smart move. To top it off, the owner isn’t dumb about the whole thing either. A few more years under this young techs’ toolbox and he might just make it.
I guess you could say that there was a showdown at high noon. Holster those wrenches boy, you’ve got some more miles to put under the hood before you’ll be ready for another showdown.
I think it was a good lesson for the young ratchet head. Just because you’re dealing with an independent shop doesn’t mean they don’t know how to use those wrenches. So saddle up there youngster, I’m proud of ya, this was a good lesson for future endeavors. For me, the trigger finger is a little slower than it used to be… But I can still tell the stories… one wrench at a time.
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MERCEDES DIMMER
My life with cars is always been a win/lose proposition. Sometimes you win an sometimes you lose.
The old theory that the customer is always right is a really hard one to swallow.
Take the case of this lady.
A regular customer that I have done work for many, many times in the past had a particular dislike
of domestic cars. Why, I don’t know, but she had her favorites... mainly Mercedes Benz. As long as it was silver, 4 doors, and was dent free. Over the years she would trade one off for a newer model year. Never buying a new one … just a couple of years newer than the one she already had. She decided it was time to trade up on her latest one. I couldn’t blame her, it had a lot of miles on it and the problems were starting to get more and more prevalent.
The last straw was when they were going to a very swanky party at the local opera house which had curb service valet parking. While sitting in line and waiting their turn for the valet the right front ball joint suddenly popped with a large bang that must have sounded like a gun shot. Now they were blocking the opera house entrance while waiting for the tow truck. I can only imagine her frustration and what she was thinking at the time. (I'm glad I wasn't there)
I hadn’t seen this car for some time so it was no surprise that she had put so many miles on it. (again, periodic maintain would be the best thing for any car) I made the repair and sent her back on the road. Later that week she showed up to the shop with what looked like the exact same car. Same color, same style. But, it wasn’t the same car. She had driven all the way to Texas for this one. There was only one problem with this one. The headlights wouldn’t work on high beam. At least that was what she told me.
When I got in the car I tried them out, they worked fine. I called her up and told her the good news. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. A few hours later she came down to show me what was going on. Oh they weren’t going into high beam, just flash to pass (high beam). This newer Benz worked slightly different than her old one. She wasn't expecting a difference in the operating functions of her new ride.
I don’t know who was more surprised, myself or my opera house attendee. This lady is very intelligent and quite the business person… I highly respect her abilities and how she conducts herself. Never raises her voice, always the perfect lady.
With a great deal of composure and in a diplomatic way she admitted to me that she needed to study her owner’s manual more carefully and not bother me with such trivial problems.
I had to laugh (to myself), she did it again...... still impressing me with her tact and professionalism.
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